


Assisting

by Cookie_Enthusiast



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton Being Alexander Hamilton, Alternate Universe - Office, Angst, Arguing, Emotional Rollercoaster, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Grieving, Jamilton - Freeform, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Smut, Swearing, Thomas Jefferson Being an Asshole, Thomas Jefferson Needs A Hug, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29818524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookie_Enthusiast/pseuds/Cookie_Enthusiast
Summary: Alexander Hamilton is a simple person. (He’s not.)Thomas Jefferson knows he’s a complicated person. (He’s right.)When Thomas takes on the plucky coffee boy he does not expect, however, to be dragged in so quickly to his own past and his longing for affection.When Washington hires Alex he cannot believe his luck, until Thomas Jefferson’s whole attitude starts to grow on him and lines become blurred.
Relationships: Aaron Burr/James Madison, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan, John Laurens & Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
Comments: 59
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

Alexander Hamilton claimed to be a man of simple pleasures. 

Outwardly, he did seem like it. He had an unhealthy obsession with coffee, staying awake past healthy hours and getting up at early ones. Like every other man in New York, he worked hard. But, Alexander Hamilton was not a man of simple pleasure, contrary to his own belief. It wasn’t fit to describe any of Alexander’s character as simple. Still, he enjoyed other peoples company and joking around with his friends - to him that was simple enough for a lifetime. 

He worked alongside his only four friends in a small coffee shop surrounded by office buildings, constantly bombarded with men in suits. To say Alex hated the job was wrong - he got to mess around a lot more than you’d expect - but he certainly didn’t enjoy it, either. There was no passion, no drive, behind sprinkling chocolate flakes over an overcomplicated mocha, no less for a man that looked down his nose at Alexander. Sure, it was nice not to bring any work home; sometimes, though, he almost wished he could. It didn’t matter to him that his coffee expertise was known throughout every office building for miles (mainly because he didn’t know) and as he delicately placed a cherry atop the seasonal Black-forest frappe he couldn’t help wanting more. His mind would wander - to being a lawyer, a politician, someone in a suit that helped people like him, an immigrant that felt like he never belonged. Don’t get him wrong - he tried. 

Law firms and offices of politics were always interested, looking down at him with wonder as he spoke without hesitance. Ideas founded and stable. Then they’d ask - ‘why is the education part here blank’ - and he may as well show himself out instantly. Growing up on a small island in the Caribbean meant limited education choices, limited education and low funds meant no education. As an abandoned bastard orphan he stood no chance against the education system, being not native to American schooling he had no chance at scholarships no matter how eligible and promising he was. (Which he was, thank you very much!) So, after much persuading from Lafayette, who had had much better luck than Alex in his ventures, Alex took the job as a barista and gave up. 

There wasn’t much that cheered him up. Ambitions didn’t just die, he would think miserably, as his own ate him alive.   
Still, the coffee shop wasn’t all bad... 

“Publisher,” John says in a stage whisper, leaning against the counter as they watch the balding man leave with his newspaper tucked under his arm. 

“Nuh uh!” Eliza argued from where she was manning the monstrous contraption Lafayette called a coffee machine. “Lawyer. Mark my words.” Alex grinned, shaking his head at them both as the bell jingled and the man let himself out. 

“Come on, guys, he had politician written all over him.” They groaned, because they knew he was right. (There wasn’t much he got wrong.)   
John jerks his head toward a man in magenta on the phone, frowning. Alexander cannot help the way his heart flutters - it wasn’t often they got someone handsome come asking for coffee among the balding and fat. It didn’t matter he had ‘trust fund prick’ written all over his perfect face. 

“Politician,” Eliza hisses, mimicking the way he was scowling into the phone into her hand. “Probably something falling through.” She adds, as if to make her answer watertight. Alexander watches from where she’s pushing buttons and flicking switches with a fondness - when they had dated it had been great, really, it had, but Alexander knew why he and Eliza had split. He needed someone to dull the noise in his head, Eliza just couldn’t do that. (Neither could John, but they didn’t talk about that.) 

“Come on, that face screams ‘book deal going to another publisher’ if I’ve ever seen it, which I have.” John adds. Eliza and Alexander groaned. John loved to boast about his time as an intern at a publishing company (even though he hated every minute) that had been secured by his high-end dad. When John announced, unceremoniously, when the father found Alexander in his bed that he was gay Henry Laurens’ favour turned. Some dark pit in Alex still felt guilty for being the reason John didn’t speak to his father - he would do anything to speak to his just one time - but if John had told he once, he’d told him a thousand times, not to feel guilty. Part of Alex - the logical part - knew he didn’t need to be. It was Henry Laurens own fault for being such a dick-face. 

Something little in him reminds him that the whole thing happened because of his insatiable nature. 

“He’s a lawyer, genius’s. He’s got ‘Washington is giving me a case I don’t want written all over him’.” Alexander would do anything to be accepted into Washington’s firm - and he meant anything. They were a respected team that got the job done tidily, no loose ends or mistakes. If a Washington lawyer said guilty, it was almost always proved. Just, Alex didn’t recognise this one. 

“Let me guess,” John pulls a dopey, I’m-in-love face. “I’d do anything to be in his position.” Alex stomps, hard, onto John’s foot. “Fuck!” John reached down for his foot, wincing in pain. 

“It is publisher, actually.” Alex wonders when the man got so close - he can practically feel the entitled money aura oozing off him. “I gave up being a lawyer, just like Washington.” Yeah. Alex had only been in America two years when he saw that on the front page of a newspaper he couldn’t afford. He had been devastated, knowing he would never get the chance to be a lawyer beneath the best of the best. The firm still held strong, however (less so since Washington’s leave), which meant some hope for Alexander but not a lot. “Now stop gossiping and get me a tall, non-fat latte with caramel drizzle and whipped cream, can you handle that?” Alexander stopped realising he was hot and wanted to punch him right across the coffee shop into next year - could the man not even look up at who he was speaking to? He breathed in through his nose and counted back from ten. (Although Lafayette did love Alexander, he had made it clear after Alexander threw a disgustingly complicated iced coffee over a customer that if he didn’t control his temper, he’d be out of a job.) 

“Definitely,” Alex says, voice too sweet, smile too wide. The man raises his face (barely) cocks an eyebrow with a smirk and Alexander has to inhale heavily not to chuck the sugar packets at him. “Anything else?” Eliza and John exchanged a look. 

“I’ll have a croissant too, if it’s not too much trouble.” Alex would forgive the man if he wasn’t such a sarcastic, pompous, trust fund, motherfucking-

“Of course not. Name?” 

“Thomas Jefferson. And hurry up, I don’t have time to be dallying because you’re incompetent.” That’s it. Alexander’s hand on the counter ball up into fists and he doesn’t just see red, no, he sees all seven circles of hell. 

“Alex,” Eliza smiles at Jefferson (Jeffershit, Alexander muses to himself in an attempt to calm down) and lead Alexander away from the counter. “Let me handle this, okay? It’s your turn to go on break.” Alex blinked. They didn’t get breaks. Business wasn’t so hectic they needed them (to be honest, it felt like he was paid to be on break and occasionally make a coffee). 

“‘Liza?” He frowns as she rushes back to the coffee machine. He hadn’t been that bad, surely, not bad enough to be put in time out? He hadn’t said anything, which was more than he could say for some other poor customers. 

“One second, Alexander Hamilton?” Thomas Jefferson asks, looking up from his phone for the first time. “You’re kidding.” Then he laughed, a mocking one that twists Alex up inside. “This is the guy that poured coffee over Charles Lee?” Jefferson looks Alex up and down again before laughing, still mocking. John and Eliza are frozen (they didn’t mention The Incident, it seemed best not to, seeing as Alex hadn’t lost his cool like that since).   
“Shocked he could reach.” There are many things Alexander Hamilton tolerates on a daily basis - rude customers being one - but there is one thing he will not tolerate. 

Being belittled because of his height. 

His mother had been around the same height (from his hazy memories) and never let anyone walk over her. She had been amazing - perfect, kind, caring - and being insulted through height was almost like insulting her. Alexander did not let people insult his mother, or him, but mainly her. 

“Excuse me?” He counts backwards from fifty, slowly, as Jefferson looks over his stance. 

“I said,” he cleared his throat, which makes him seem even more cocky. “I’m shocked you could reach.” Alex is only on twenty-three, fingernails digging enough crescent moons to last his lifetime into his poor palms. Alexander doesn’t have time to second guess what’s coiling on his tongue (he acts on impulse, and it gets him in trouble more than he admits). 

“What is your problem? Daddy actually make you go and get coffee for yourself for once you silver-spoon trust fund-!” 

“Alexander!” And there was Lafayette. Frowning (it did not look good on him) and Alexander knew he was about to be fired in front of this pompous ass. Humiliation was already making him blush. “My apologies, s- Thomas?” A look of recognition passed between them, Jefferson bristled. “I’m sorry about the unprofessional words spoken here today,” Lafayette, ever the level-headed businessman, turned to Alexander chewing the inside of his cheek. Which meant Jefferson had (somehow) managed to tick him off too. “Alexander, I have told you time and time again,” Lafayette rubbed his temple. 

“No, Laf, come on-“ 

“It’s my fault,” Jefferson said, accepting the napkin from Eliza with a grimace, wiping his hand where their fingers had brushed. Alexander had never seen someone so repulsed by Eliza Schuyler in his life. “I was taunting him to get a rise.” There was no apology in his cold, calculating eyes. 

“Well, that makes sense...” Lafayette chewed his lip, now. Caught between firing Hamilton (which felt like something he should have done years ago) or letting things slide (only for the millionth time). 

Alexander Hamilton stood there, hands folded behind his back in what he hoped was a respectful manner praying Lafayette will be kind with him, especially seeing as Jefferson had pushed the hidden button of his, too. As much as Alex was desperate to find a better job (not that he didn’t love working with his friends, he did) but he always had this deep dark craving for more. He’d been meaning to tell Lafayette he had an interview (at a publishing company, no less) in the hopes of getting off a little early. This was one of the first places he’d submitted his resume in a while that had actually responded (a clipped email with time and place) and it had made him giddy. To rise at all was enough at this point. Work experience in a more professional position opened up his chances, who knew, if he loved being an editor perhaps he’d be satisfied to go over the passion of others. To pull the good from the bad, start careers instead of ending them (like a lawyer seemed to do) while reading the whole time. (He loved reading.) But, still, when he was turned away at the end of the day he needed this job - it was the only thing keeping his head above water when the world tried so hard to drown him. Moving to America had been easy, living in America was a whole lot harder. 

Of course he loved New York, he loved the bustle, he loved the busy of the city that didn’t sleep, he loved the ideals of America - the ideas of freedom and equality. There were just jerks like Jeffershit taking up too much room. 

“Alexander, this is your final warning. And I mean it.” Alex smiled, he couldn’t help it, watching Lafayette return the sincere gesture. 

“Still no coffee over here.” Jefferson drawls, looking back down at his phone as if nothing had happened. Alex curls up his fists and counts, picking up one of their Go-Green cups and operating the machine with expertise. He drizzles the caramel in neat lines on top of the whipped cream, popping a dome top onto the whole thing and slamming it down in front of Jefferson in record time. He smiles and suppresses the urge to knock those perfect, even teeth into the back of his skull. Jefferson looks at Hamilton as if he’s stupid. “The croissant?” 

The tongs shake in his hand as he pushes the croissant into a paper bag, not a plate like he’s custom to. The only way Jefferson is taking his order is to-go. 

“Ah, finally,” Jefferson pockets his phone, taking the coffee in one hand, whipping out his wallet.

“That’s four dollars fifty.” Alex mumbles, just wishing this was over with. Thomas pulls out a five, then another, tucking the second into Hamilton’s breast pocket. It’s hard to stay calm when the charming fingers press against his chest, almost purposefully, as the money slides in folded and neat. 

“Go and buy yourself some manners, coffee boy.” Alex is dumbfounded, gaping at Jefferson as he picks up the croissant and saunters out the door, the silver bell dinging cheerfully after him. 

“The nerve...” he hisses under his breath, taking the fiver and putting it into the clearly labelled tip jar full of one dollar bills and pocket change. Alexander knows no one works harder than his fellow workers (Eliza almost always take the late shift, alone) and would feel guilty keeping the money despite the fact he needs it. As if to prove his point, he feels his big toe push out the hole that had been growing for days in his sock. 

“Alexander, I’ve told you about being nice to customers,” Lafayette says in a warning tone. 

“Don’t worry. If my interview goes well I’ll be out of your way.” Alexander mutters bitterly, untying his apron. His friends swarm him with happy noises. 

“Mon ami,” Lafayette’s stance has gone from ‘angry boss’ to ‘caring friend’ quicker than normal. “This is great news!” 

“Alex why didn’t you tell us? Goodness, you have to go get ready,” Eliza licks her thumb and rubs angrily at a pen smudge on Alex’s cheek. 

“Dude, congrats! If I’d have known I wouldn’t of made you clean the coffee machine.” John looks at the subsequent stains on Alex’s shirt. (Alex doesn’t mention how helpful this would have been, seeing as this was his only dress shirt.) He isn’t in the mood for an argument, Jefferson had been bad enough. 

Which, was odd. 

When he fought with people (more often than anyone could comprehend) they often backed down and hid behind their idiotic assumptions. Jefferson hadn’t, something about his air had made Hamilton feel small, inconvenient, which had sent blood pumping hard in unrealistic fury. It wasn’t right to be jealous of things Jefferson had been handed (he doubted the man got much satisfaction in life outside of being a dick). Heck, arguing with Jefferson had appeased the small, argumentative voice in the back of his head, at least for the time being. It had been fun. Which, again, was odd. Arguing with anyone normally felt like have strong words with a toddler who’d had a Barbie Doll shoe up their nose. With Jefferson... it wasn’t. He’d rendered Alex actually speechless (for that alone he deserved praise) not through looks like Eliza used to, but through words.   
Alex tuned back into his gushing, excited friends. 

But could not shake the look of those cold, dark eyes. 

It was embarrassing. 

Really, it was. Hamilton felt stupid (not something he felt often) as he approached the reception desk, anxiously approaching Angelica. They had always been on good terms, even after things with Eliza ended, they had a flirty, playful relationship that went well with their matched intellect. They hadn’t spoken in a while (not since Alex got drunk and tried to kiss her) but it was still good to see a familiar face amongst this new world. 

“Heya Angelica,” Alexander didn’t lean against the desk like he wanted to - these were his possible coworkers walking by and first impressions were everything in every world. 

“Alexander?” She leaned closer, obviously glad to see him. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Um, I’m here for an interview, actually,” he smiles nervously. (He’s never been this nervous.) 

“Oh, you’re the two o’clock! Of course. Here, let me right you down how to get to Washington’s office.” Alex stiffens. Washington? He wants to say, but finds his throat closed up. When he heard Washington gave up the law firm he had been devastated, barely looking into whatever was so much better. He knew Washington was a publisher now, but hadn’t cared about where, what company, it didn’t seem all that important. “Here we are, take the elevator to the top floor then follow the instructions,” Alex looks down on the piece of notebook paper, legs moving of their own accord to press the elevator button. 

Mind buzzing, Alex presses the top floor button. The elevator shudders upwards, slowly, elevator music drilling a hole into his skull. Alex presses the button again, as if that will speed things up. (It didn’t.) It was really hard to remain level-headed when he was about to meet his idol - George fucking Washington! - as the elevator went too slow for his racing brain. What was he going to say? Goodness, how was he meant to behave? Surely not as if he didn’t idolise the man (although that may make him seem desperate) and hadn’t read his self-published book (‘In the Courtroom’) only a billion times. 

When the doors do open it’s very slowly. Alexander slides through the small gap, making the secretary sat outside Washington’s office snort. (How could people miss his office?).

“I-I’m the two o’clock?” Alex says, voice sounding strangled as he runs a nervous hand through his hair. She pressed a nail to the intercom.

“Mr. Washington? Your two o’clock is finally here.” Alex looked up at the clock a over her, ticking at him ominously. He was only three minutes late (which he blamed on the elevator). 

“Let them in,” came the response after a moment.  
Washington’s office is grand and ten times the size of Alexander’s apartment alone (though that wasn’t saying much). Everything, from the couches to the framed photos and accomplishments, is neat and orderly, not one speck of dust out of place. All the furniture matches, the chairs made of black leather without a crease, the mahogany desk matched the bookcase on his wall (Alexander spotted ‘In the Courtroom’ almost giddily). Washington himself almost blends into the world of neat and tidy, looking like he belonged among the furniture and sentimental items on his desk. He’s sat with his back to a window that stretches over the wall, neat grey lines dividing up panes of glass. It’s a bit overwhelming, Alex finds himself staring, mouth slightly open, the door still open behind him.   
Washington finds this amusing, standing. 

“It is pretty nice, isn’t it?” He muses, watching Alex so closely. Now he was prompting Alexander into speaking, however, it had opened something he could not have prepared for. 

“Yes! Just look at this view, it’s amazing! I didn’t realise offices could be like this in real life, not that you don’t deserve it of course, Mr. Washington sir. I followed your law firm for years, all the cases and stuff - you just handled them so well and treated them so personally - don’t even get me started on your book! I’ve only read it a hundred times - at least! - it’s like a lawyer guide. Not that I could be a lawyer, you see, because I grew up on a little island and the school system there wasn’t very good, you see, so when I applied they turned me away-“ 

“Take a breath, son,” Washington motioned to a chair in front of the desk, which Alexander took with childish enthusiasm. 

“Um, sir, please don’t call me son.” Washington raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment, opting to sit back down. 

“Alexander, I’ve had the pleasure of looking though your resume - very well put together by the way,” Alex found himself beaming ear to ear. “I can already tell you’re well spoken, and lack no amount of enthusiasm.” Alex nodded, feeling all the points here were exclusively positive - that had to be good, right? “But, like you mentioned, education...” it felt like being punched. 

Alexander always got caught up in his storm - always got lost in himself - and someone always yanked him out. The first person to do that had been his dad, he had only been ten, so delirious, so lost in false happiness as the world around him began to crumble. Then, of course, his mother. He had been twelve, happy again, when they got sick. Healthcare had never been the best, but when he found himself recovering it seemed his mother - powerful, strong - could never succumb. It seemed the world enjoyed pulling him from ideals, from dreams, dunking him face first into the salty sting of reality. 

“I know, sir,” Alex was already pulling his satchel closer, preparing to leave. “But I swear I’m as competent as anyone else here, I know all about the English language - grammar, wordplay. I could do this job. I know it doesn’t look like it on paper and I understand if you cannot take the risk.” Alexander was leaning down to pick up the bag in fractions, unable to gauge Washington’s reaction. 

“Hmm,” Washington finally hummed, leaning back in his seat. No one had done that before. 

“Sir?” 

“You see, Mr. Hamilton,” (a formal address was new) “Like you said, it would be a risk. However,” Washington leant forward, folding his hands onto the desk in a way that commanded respect. Alexander sits up straight before he can stop himself. “If you are well-educated out of normal realms I have no reason to doubt that.” The first around Alex’s heart begins to loose slowly. “But I cannot, in any good conscience, just place you as an editor.” The fist squeezes, hard, and Alex nods. Could Washington stop letting him down easy? “So, if it’s okay with you, I am willing to give you the position of assistant editor to one of the editors here until you mange to prove yourself.” Alex’s mouth falls open. “You’d only start on around ten-fifty an hour,” Washington continues. (Alex can’t help thinking ‘only!’) “But, if all were to go well, I see no reason why we couldn’t have a new editor on our team by this time next year.” 

Washington stood, so Alex did too, even though his legs felt like jelly and his mind felt like mush. (He’d actually gotten the job!) Washington extended his hand, Alex stared at it awkwardly for a moment in disbelief. Before grabbing it all too eagerly and shaking very unprofessionally. 

“Thank you sir! You wont regret this sir, I promise. I’ll work super hard.” Washington pulled his hand away, that same amusement in his eye. 

“I’ll be seeing you Monday, eight o’clock sharp, Mr. Hamilton.” 

“Yes! Yes, you will, of course,” Alex backed away from the desk, putting on his satchel as he went, fearing if he looked away the trance would fall. 

“Eight o’clock!” He stumbled awkwardly as he walked into a pretty potted plant, blushing, before waving delicately (cursing himself for waving) then rushing out the door before Washington could note his incompetence. 

The door shuts with a click and the secretary looked up at his happy smile with a roll of her eyes. 

Alex didn’t care.

He’d gotten the job. 

———————————————

Thomas was a complicated man. 

He knew that, his coworkers knew that, Washington’s bloody cat knew it - it wasn’t something one could hide. Of course, he liked simple things, staying in bed for another five minutes, being with his friend (singular) and a good cup of well-made coffee. However, he also found himself taking an unhealthy liking to causing other people pain through sharp, calculated words. A therapist might say it made him feel bigger, or more in control. Thomas just liked to see how people reacted. Still, he wasn’t a sadist (hence why he saved that pathetic Hamilton’s job) which he liked to highlight a lot. He was just complicated. Because that put all his quirks into one box that didn’t need explaining. 

However sadistic people thought he was, however, they could not fault his work. All those years ago, when Washington opened up the company for a chance to do something more relaxing than managing a team of lawyers, Thomas had scoffed and told him he was crazy. Still, when he was asked to join as an editor (what could he say, he only had a hundred English degrees) he did not hesitate to say ‘yes’. Job offers from Washington were rare, Thomas would jump ship whenever he had to, to accept a Washington offer. Loyalty to anyone else be damned. (Maybe that’s why he didn’t have many friends, but Thomas found James Madison quite enough, thank you very much.) 

Working as an editor was (contrary to what he had thought) not easy. Deadlines seemed a lot closer, more impending, when reading what might pass for a story but was overall rubbish. He sent away many writers who thought they had written the next Jane Eyre or Harry Potter with ease, he knew what good literature was. In the office, this only made him seem professional and level-headed. Thomas actually dreaded it (they always felt the need to cry). 

Thomas enjoyed, however, working there. He enjoyed reading the ones that were actually good. He enjoyed making them into masterpieces and later adding them to his shelf (those exclusively published thanks to him). It was one of the things he actually took joy into, his work, sure he hated his colleagues and the clearance coffee in the break room made him gag, but the actually work? Yeah, that was good. 

James was shaking his head, manuscript under his arm as Thomas sipped his well-earned coffee. Thomas had tuned him out a while ago (when James   
got into a book there really was no shutting him up) to enjoy a little half-peace in his head. Still, he was good at nodding at the right time and signing at the right time, so it wasn’t like James knew. If he did he’d be making offended sounds already. Thomas pushed the elevator button as James got more excited, consequently coughing into his ever-present handkerchief.

“I know you’re not listening.” 

“What? Yes I am.” 

“I just asked you where you got that coffee from, so unless it’s a secret I see no reason why you blatantly ignored me.” Thomas felt blood rush to the surface of his cheeks at being caught out. He scoffed. 

“Just that coffee place down the road. The one with Alexander Hamilton in it?” The elevator doors creeped open as he spoke, James looking excitedly up at him when he mentioned the coffee shop. 

“Did he make you that drink? I bet it’s good. Everyone says he makes them the fastest and best.” Thomas has to stop his eye roll. Of course James was all over this, he had been the one to recommend the place to Thomas. 

“It’s not bad,” he mutters, as the doors finally open fully, to reveal Hamilton himself stood, leaning back against the mirror of the elevator. Hamilton was watching the floor, completely silent. Thomas cannot believe he’s here. What was a bottom-feeder coffee boy doing in Washington’s place of work? Most of his coworkers didn’t deserve that either but at least they were qualified. 

“Ah, hello,” James smiles, ever friendly. Hamilton raises his eyes, a half smile on his face, then he sees Thomas. He frowns. 

“Hello.” He mumbles, casting his eyes back down to the floor. Thomas decided if he was going to stand there and pretend not to eavesdrop then he’d let him get away with it. He wasn’t in the mood for another fight, especially when Hamilton had no fuse before he blew up. 

“So, James, what about this meeting? Why’s Washington summoning us now?” 

“Some new employee, if gossipers are to be believed.” Normally, they wouldn’t, but the way Hamilton stiffens says a lot more than the gossipers did. 

“Oh really? Do we know what position they’ll be in?” 

“Apparently it’s another bloody assistant.” James rubbed his face and sighed. “I cannot deal with another smiley baby-faced adult kissing my ass.” The tops of Hamilton’s ears have gone pink. 

“Then don’t take them on,” Thomas has said it many times, but he also couldn’t control that James was one of the nicer editors here. He actually had patience for mistakes (Thomas, decidedly, did not). 

“Oh, who’s gonna take them then? You?” Thomas pretended to be offended. It wasn’t a secret that Thomas sent new assistants running with their tails tucked between their legs. Often crying. (Why did they always cry?) 

“I might,” Hamilton’s face rose, as if to make an angry retort, when he thinks better of it, catching Thomas staring. James laughed.

“You might my ass. I doubt Washington would let you have an assistant after what happened last time.” (Thomas stands by the fact not knowing what a semicolon deserved a lashing in their line of work.) “Besides, you know he’ll probably hand him to Charles Lee.” Hamilton makes a snort kind of noise, covering it up by clearing his throat. Under normal circumstances, Thomas would have done the same (the coffee incident was hilarious) but could not bring himself to laugh at the same thing that made the coffee boy laugh. 

“Why?” 

“Oh, word is Washington wants to make him more social. Secure more deals. You know, do his job,” Thomas snorted.

“He is a lazy arse.” He agreed as the elevator dinged and the doors slowly opened up for them. “God, I would give anything to make these elevators go faster,” Thomas mutters, tapping his foot impatiently. James shushed him as they finally dinged all the way open. 

“Come on, meeting won’t attend itself.” 

Thomas allows himself one last look back at Hamilton, to meet the glare burning into his back with a smirk. 

He was about to do the unthinkable, and it would be worth it. 

Washington set down the file on his way in, a casual gesture that made all the editors stiffen to suppress a groan. A file in a sudden meeting meant only one thing, a new employee. They had to hope and pray it would just be another editor, or someone they’d work close to in marketing. As always, Washington’s face betrayed nothing but it didn’t need to today. Thomas already knew. 

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” there’s a murmur of ‘good afternoon’ echoed back half-heartedly. “Now then, I know how you all love new employees, especially assistants,” the room groaned. Thomas smirked. Not only was Washington taunting them (which was good to see), he was doing it in the same way that Thomas could not wait to taunt Hamilton as he went from coffee boy, to slightly better paid coffee boy. “Come on now. I’d almost think you weren’t excited,” he smiles affectionately because he understands how it feels to be followed around by starry eyed idiots. He was looking at a few right now. “Look, pass this around, have a look. It’s my hopes he wont be an assistant for long.” A lot of murmuring. If Washington was so sure he’d rise quickly, why not have him as an editor to begin with and save all of them some time. 

Charles Lee picked up the folder first, smiling at Washington, flicking it open with enthusiasm. His face pales instantly. 

“Sir!” He all but shouts, dropping the file. “You cannot hire that miscreant!” Which confirmed Thomas’s theory in a second. 

“Why, pray tell, not?” Thomas picked up the file, smiling wickedly to himself as he read the name printed on top. ‘Alexander Hamilton’. He scanned over what was written as Lee struggled to explain without bringing up the coffee incident (the bane of his existence). 

He stopped at the qualifications. N/A? What on earth did N/A mean? No, he knew what it meant, but why on earth was it filling up the most important part of any resume? 

“Well, well he’s the one that poured coffee over me sir!” Charles finally splutters out, growing redder by the second. Washington, much to everyone’s surprise, snorted at the statement before composing himself. “Sir it isn’t funny! You surely cannot trust anyone who acts in such a way, especially this one. He’s loudmouthed and doesn’t know his place and-“ 

“I’ll take him.” 

The room falls into silence. 

“Thomas?” Washington raises an eyebrow suspiciously. “Why on earth do you suddenly want an assistant?” 

“I find myself in need of assistance. Is that so wrong?” People were whispering now, probably about Thomas’ sadistic tendencies, but he did not dare look away from Washington. “Besides, if he’s really how Mr. Lee portrays him perhaps he needs a firmer hand.” Washington considered. (Hamilton had seemed to lack a professional air, while he still put that down to nerves if Thomas could do something to show him his place only a little, who was he to stop that? Running a company like this needed the calm and collected. Hamilton had seemed neither.) “Sir, you wanted a volunteer, is this not better than having to pick?” It was. Much better. 

“Fine. But, Mr. Jefferson, for the love of God at least be civil. I have high hopes and it will not do for my best employee to squander them. Meeting adjourned.” Lee scowled hard at Thomas as he stood, Alexander Hamilton’s folder beneath his arm as he tucked in his chair. 

“You’re biting off more than you can chew, Jefferson,” he hissed, “That kid is devil spawn. Mark my words.”

“It’s not nice to talk about people like that, Mr. Lee,” Thomas turned to where James was waiting, holding open the door. “You should really learn to hold that tongue,” Lee glows red, making angry noises, but by the time he has a retort Thomas is down the corridor with James. 

“Why do you need an assistant?” James demands in the safety of Thomas’ office. It was made up nicely, everything clean, the only sign of anyone inhabiting it was the well-thumbed books on a book shelf. And the mountain of paperwork on his desk. (So maybe he did need an assistant.) 

“Upset about being proved wrong?” Thomas teased, dropping Hamilton’s file onto his desk before sitting down. James came and sat in the chairs in front of the desk, frown deepening. 

“You hate assistants,” James reminded him (as if he could forget). “Obviously this one isn’t going to kiss your ass and make goo-goo eyes at you,” he mimicked the high voice of an assistant long ago. “‘Oh, Mr. Jefferson, of course Mr. Jefferson, I’d love to Mr. Jefferson’.” Thomas waved a hand dismissively. 

“That kind of behaviour is predictable and boring. Sue me for wanting a change,” James raised a sceptical eyebrow. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice it was Hamilton. That you’ve chosen and was in that elevator. If you’ve got some scheme-“ 

“What?” Thomas shook his head. “You’re thinking too much into this, my dear friend. I want to work with the man who poured ice coffee over Lee’s head in the middle of winter, okay? Is that such a crime?” James relaxed, reclining in his chair. 

“Now that makes more sense,” he muttered, before coughing violently into his handkerchief.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this happened then. 
> 
> TW mentions of death/descriptions of it. You’ve been warned.

Alexander groans, fumbling in the darkness to turn off his alarm. It tells him, almost proudly, it’s 7 o’clock (obviously it doesn’t know about the hangover he’s struggling with). Alex sighs, caught between having to get out of bed and knowing there is no way he’ll be able to wiggle out from underneath John. Sue him, he liked having sex with John. Despite the fact it only happened when they were blind drunk, so he didn’t remember much, it always felt good to wake up beneath his warmth. In his arms, the feeling of being loved. No, he’s not lonely. (Okay, only a little.) But he and John had an agreement, one that meant they could do this and not ruin their friendship, and it was good. Still, not good enough to be fired on his first day. 

“John,” he mumbles, trying to rouse his freckled friend, who only sighed and rolled off of him. Not how he expected to get the result, but it was got all the same. 

To say spending the whole weekend celebrating was a bit overkill would be saying something for a normal person. Alexander was someone who had a Frenchman with impeccable taste in wine as a friend (try turning that down). All the same, he regrets it now, stood in the tiny en-suite bathroom John had earned by paying the most rent and inspecting the damage. No matter how many time he told John hickeys were a no they always appeared up his neck. Still, he couldn’t blame John for it, they looked good on his tanned skin. Though, he doubted Washington would think that. 

He pulls on his only decent pair of suit trousers (he’s pretty sure he wore them to his graduation) and scrubs his teeth after taking an Advil and gulping through a glass of water. To his dismay and embarrassment his one and only shirt, while now stain free, had a collar that did not hide the worst of the damage. It wasn’t all that bad, he doubted they’d be found unless you were looking, but he still pulls his collar higher desperately. It doesn’t go down well. So, eventually, he sighs and gives up, pulling his tie over his head tightening the knot in a hope that will keep his collar firmly up after years of wear making it less stiff and more floppy. When he finally looks himself over properly he decided he looks good - no, not good, but decent. Decent would have to do. 

He set down water and Advil on his bedside table for John, with a sticky note informing him Alex had gone to work. John groaned in his sleep, pulling the covers up over his shoulders. Yes, it was a messed up arrangement that basically stopped Alex from finding happiness and love, but he was okay with that. Alexander Hamilton was good at casual sex with no strings. Feelings? Not so much. John knew that, he knew that. Everyone he knew knew that. (Poor Eliza.) 

The subway is dark and quiet at this time in the morning. Alex could not be more glad, his nerves betraying himself as the train rushed to greet him. 

He could only hope his nerves were unfounded. That today would go without a hitch. 

Yeah, he could hope. 

Alexander sits in Washington’s office, folding and unfolding his legs beneath him, trying to stop his hand from shaking by balling it into a fist. He’d gotten so used to being told no he wasn’t mentally prepared for being told yes. Still, the openness of the office was soothing, the smile from the woman in a photo on Washington’s desk was, too. Still, Alex couldn’t bear just sitting there, jumping up to go and inspect the view from up here. Down on the street was like looking into a New York movie. 

A hot dog stand on the corner, everyone pushing forward in stiff suits, phones in one hand, coffee in the other. He could see people shoving their way past, see people stopping (tourists) to look up before getting pushed from all angles for stopping to admire. It seemed different from up here, somehow. Like he had power he knew he didn’t. 

Shaking off the thought he wandered to to bookcase, running his hand down the soft fabric of the spines. Books about lawyers, books about writing, books about how to be a good boss, books on how to run an office effectively. Alexander’s fingers hesitated over ‘In the Courtroom’, the green spine with golden letters almost begging him to touch. He looked to the door, not wanting to be caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Then he pulled it out, delicately, lifted the front cover and listened to the soft creak, the hardcover heavy in his hand. It was beautiful. All the 0’s lined up, the singled dash of the 1 almost daunting. The original. Alexander felt light headed just holding it. 

The door was pushed open, followed by Washington’s talking, and Alex drops the book. There is a second when he’s panics, ducking down, catching the spine with a luck he didn’t realise he had. Now there was definitely no chance of putting it back without Washington knowing. 

“I- I’m sorry,” he was blushing and stuttering, the book that had inspired him clutched in his beginning to sweat hands. A child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But, to his surprise, Washington smiled. “I wasn’t snooping, I swear, just, I,” he bit down on his lip when he saw who stood behind Washington, eyebrow cocked, a knowing smirk on his stupid face. 

“Don’t worry,” Washington approached, took the book and slide it back into place without care. “Another along and you would have found my secret room,” Alex pales for a moment, when he notices the twinkle in Washington’s eye and allows himself to relax. If he was going to be fired about this incident it would have already happened (which it hadn’t) so he returned to the seat he had been in. 

Jefferson sat in the one next to it. Just his presence made Alex angry. That swagger of ‘I own everything, including you and this obnoxious magenta suit’ that Alex really could not stand. 

“Mr. Hamilton, I’d like you to meet Mr. Thomas Jefferson, whom you will be working under for the foreseeable future,” Thomas extended an elegant hand with long, slender fingers. To Washington it probably look respectful, but Alex could see the mocking in the way the hand hangs there. He shakes it reluctantly, eager to let go as soon as he touches the bastard. 

“A pleasure,” he says, grin too tight. Jefferson grinned, his grip tightening just enough to hurt. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Hamilton.” 

“Mr. Jefferson I’ve assured you schedule is clear until noon, please use this time to show Mr. Hamilton around the office and introduce him to his coworkers. I’m expecting to hear only good things,” Washington said this more to Jefferson which was interesting. Alexander shook off his curiosity. He had to behave himself. Which may just mean he’d have to be... civil (he shuddered at just the thought) with Jeffershit. Alex turned to look at him, to drink in the lanky giant, appalled to find him still attractive as anything. Why did bad people get the good looks? “Mr. Hamilton? You have something-“ Washington cuts himself off and Alexander’s hand flies to his neck, face burning up. Jefferson just smirked like a bastard. “O-oh.” Alex cannot believe he’s made Washington feel awkward.

‘We’ll be on our way, then,” Jefferson stood with grace. “If that’s all sir?” Washington nodded. 

“Yes, that’ll be all.” 

“Was your little boyfriend worth it?” Alex is still clutching his neck as they step into the elevator. He glares up at Jefferson’s cocky smirk. 

“You assume it was a guy?” He says, instead of choking Jefferson right there and then. A small sparkle comes to Jefferson’s eye. 

“I know it was a guy.” He responds. Despite knowing that Jefferson couldn’t know - even Lafayette and Hercules didn’t know - something in his stomach twisted.

“No you don’t.” He retorts after a pause. “It could have been a woman.” Jefferson scoffs.

“Women don’t normally lay claim like that.” Alexander’s free hand balls into a tight fist. 

“I’m not claimed.” He argues. Jefferson finally looks down at him, eyebrow raised, watching Alex flush redder. He didn’t like being scrutinised like this. And as if Jefferson could talk - Alex placed bets in his head this asshole liked guys as much as he did. 

“Of course not.” He drawls. Alex hates he finds his voice so attractive. “Frankly, Hamilton, I couldn’t care less who’s doing you up the ass,” Alexander opened his mouth to argue but Jefferson ploughed on. “At least have the decency to show up to work with a higher collar next time, yeah?” Alex didn’t dare confess he couldn’t afford another top. 

“I’m so sorry not all of us have six different shirts for one day!” Jefferson’s jaw tightens, only slightly, Alexander almost missed it. Good, he was getting a rise out of Jefferson, too. 

“I’m sorry, welfare, did I hurt your feelings?” Alex’s throat closes up. Jefferson seems to notice. Alex turns away, willing himself not to cry or scream like he really fucking wanted to right now. It hit too close to home to retort about Jefferson being a literal trust fund baby with a silver spoon between his plush lips. He knew he was poor, had had a moment of panic a year or so ago where he feared losing his crappy apartment and job. He bet Jefferson had never experienced the fear of being put out on the New York streets. He bet Jefferson could go running home to daddy at any time he wanted to. When he looked back up at the bastard he was watching the doors, expression unreadable, but certainly not sorry. Alexander gathered himself and stood up straight, feeling Jefferson side-eye him. “Pull your collar up for gods sake,” Jefferson muttered as the elevator dinged and the doors began to open. 

Alexander knew all trying was fruitless, but shame made him try anyway. 

As Jefferson speed-walked down the corridor, Alex stumbling to keep up, hand once against covering his neck, other people in better suits looked at the unlikely pair and whispered. 

“Fucking slow down,” Alex hissed. “Not all of us have legs like you do,” then he curses himself. It almost sounded like a compliment. Jefferson snorts, presumably having the same thought, slowing only slightly so Alexander can actually keep up with his brisk pace. They turn sharply, into the room Alex assumes people avoid work. Or, more commonly known as, the break room. 

The coffee shop didn’t have a break room (there was no need) so Alex doesn’t know if this is over or underwhelming. There are a collection of tables, surrounded with armchairs in green, red and blue that are inhabited by a collection of people that all look separate but together. Most of them are eating what Alexander assumes is late breakfast or maybe early lunch (he had no idea what time it was and didn’t dare take out his phone to check) and mulling over manuscripts. There’s a microwave next to a beaten up kettle, a short fridge Alexander bet was full of snobby food that no one would dare steal. (All the more reason he should.) He recognises none of them, at first glance, when he sees a woman he hasn’t seen since Eliza’s birthday some years ago. Breaking away from Jefferson’s side, he ventures toward where she’s bent over a tablet in her signature yellow. 

“Hamilton,” Jefferson hisses, as if Alexander was a dog, making the whole room look up at him. Including her. Peggy Schuyler. Her mouth fell open before she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down into the hug. “Alexander Hamilton!” She squealed in disbelief, “As I live in breathe,” she pushed him away, inspected him, glaring at those still staring to make them return to their work. “I can’t believe it’s you! What’re you doing working here? You could have told me babe,” which isn’t what it sounded like. 

While Alexander had amorous relations with both her sisters, he and Peggy had never been like that. They hung out and talked about everything (almost), confiding most of their secrets in each other. Alex’s feet in her lap, she leant back against the couch (futon, Peggy would remind) in her room. After swinging his shot at both her sisters it had become a joke between them that they should have been paired, often calling each other pet names. Until she got too busy. Until communication dwindled and died away. Until there was no more futon talks with feet in laps and heads leant back - it had all come to a stop. 

“I would have, honey,” he tells her as they kiss cheeks. (Peggy loved the French custom as much as she loved Lafayette.) “Not when you don’t let me get a word in edgeways.” 

“Oh, shush, you love my jabbering.” She leaned forward and finally took in Jefferson where he was stood glowering. “Oh, heya Jeff!”

“I’m his assistant,” Alex muttered. Peggy’s mouth fell open. 

“No, no you’re too precious top be under him!” Her implication prompted Alexander to grow crimson. 

“Peggy!” He admonishes, slapping her playfully on the arm. She reaches out, running her fingers over the hickey. “Yes, I know, it’s there,” he rolls his eyes. 

“It’s kind of hot,” she tells him, noticing his grumbling. 

“Hamilton,” Jefferson said it again, receiving a glare from Peggy. 

“Who was it this time? John?” Alexander’s face reddened. “I knew it! You two are back together?” Alex did not want to admit the fact he was in a friends with benefits situation loud enough for Jefferson and everyone else to hear. He shrugged nonchalantly. Peggy squeezes his arms. “You’re so telling me everything.” 

“Hamilton, come on, we don’t have al day,” Jefferson sighs this time, checking his watch that probably cost more than Alex had earned in a lifetime. Peggy lets his arms go. 

“Jefferson, play nice,” she tells him sternly, watching Jefferson roll his eyes. They had been paired on a handful of projects, her being one of the best marketers on the team and he the best editor. Jefferson had even (she guessed) attempted to flirt with her, though she had never thought anything of it. Not like Angelica, who had slapped him hard and consequently didn’t need to put up with his shit anymore.  
Alex moved over to him dutifully, following as he lead Alex out. 

“An open relationship with Peggy Schuyler.” Jefferson muttered - it wasn’t a question, but Alex felt the need to answer. 

“What? Ew, no, she’s like my sister.” Jefferson looked sceptical.

“Whatever floats your boat, Hamilton,” cheeks glowing, Alex went to argue back instantly. 

“No, no! There’s nothing like that!” He doesn’t know why he cares. 

“If not Schuyler then John, huh?” Jefferson teases, stopping in front of a door with a ‘T.Jefferson’ plague on one door. Alexander was burning up. 

“I thought you didn’t care about my love life?” 

“You’re right, I don’t, unless it might affect my work.” My work, as if Alexander was just going to sit there and look pretty. “Besides, a relationship has to go to HR.” Thomas sits down behind his desk with ease, propping his feet up onto the desk like the self-entitled bastard he was. 

“Well, I’m not in a relationship with Ms. Schuyler. So there.” 

“Didn’t sound like you’re in one with John either.” Alexander hates how well Jefferson can read him. “But, like I said, don’t care who’s doing you up the ass, Hamilton,” Jefferson sat up and forward. “I-“ 

“Who says I’m a bottom?” It’s out Alex’s mouth before he can even stop himself, the conversation pressing hard into his mind. Wanting to get away from it, hating every second of it, but unable to ignore it. 

“No one said that, sweetheart,” Jefferson rolls his eyes and looks unimpressed. 

“You’re just mad I can get laid and you can’t.” The lazy smirk on Jefferson’s face vanishes, jaw clenching, the look in his eyes off somewhere else. Reliving a memory? Alexander did not want to know. “It’s okay though, I hear the south is a production of interbreeding.” Jefferson slammed his hands on the table, making Alex flinch (it sounded too much like thunder) before storming around the desk and grappling Alexander by the tie. 

“You talk about the south like that again you’ll be out of a job, coffee-boy.” He growled, before letting Alex go and wiping his hand as if he expected Alexander could infect him with something. (If only poor was contagious.) “Down the hall left, six cubicles along the top row is your new home, asshole. Give me your phone.” Alex’s hand flew to his pocket as if Jefferson would take it. 

“Why?” 

“Because I want to snap it over your snowflake little head, obviously,” Jefferson sounds a little too sincere for Alex’s liking, pulling the phone out anyway. “Yeah, need you to unlock it stupid.” Alex grits his teeth and presses his thumb to the home button. A couple of years back Lafayette, John and Hercules had gathered all the money they could for Alexander’s birthday and got him the phone to replace the indestructible brick that was his Nokia. It had been a surprise, to find the iPhone box under the wrapping. Still, it was still his prized possession. Now Jefferson was touching it, practically rubbing the sentimental value off. “Here.” Jefferson handed it back, locked.

“What did you do?” 

“If you’re going to be my errand boy you need my number.” 

“I’m your assistant, not an errand boy.” 

“Same thing I’m afraid. Now shoo before I do something I really won’t regret.” The threat made the hairs on the back of Alex’s neck rise (was Jefferson really capable of hitting him?) and he decides not to risk running his mouth. 

Following Jefferson’s instructions brought him to a grey square, among other grey squares. The chair was plastic and reminded him of the ones he sat in at school, the desk wobbled onto one short leg. There were still notes in the drawers from whoever had come before him. ‘Call Claire’, whoever Claire was, and a dusty manuscript Alexander pulled out, blowing dust off the top. ‘An Age of Enlightenment; The Worth of the Human Being’. He frowned. Someone had left this here. Why on earth would they do that? 

He puts it back sceptically, leaning back in his chair and staring at the blank screen of the computer. Jefferson hadn’t given him anything to do, the prick, now he was sat here useless as a sack of potatoes as the clatter of keys rang out around him. Alex pushes his bag deeper under the desk with his toe, leaning down onto his hands and sighing. This sucked a lot more than he expected. 

Fucking Jefferson. 

———————————

Fucking Hamilton. 

Who exactly did he think he was, talking to his boss like that, arguing like that, being a righteous prick like that? Thomas leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his face helplessly, as if he could wash Hamilton out of his mind. Perhaps he had bitten off more than he could chew here - Hamilton was a loudmouthed, obnoxious poor-boy who expected everyone to bow at his feet for showing up to work. Certainly not what Jefferson had been expecting when he decided he’d take him on. 

Still, there was a small voice telling him he deserved it. Calling Hamilton ‘welfare’ had been a blind punch, so done with everyone mocking his clothes, he hadn’t meant to hurt the coffee boy. Not to the point he cried. (Hamilton wasn’t good at hiding his feelings.) In fact, an apology had even sprung up onto his tongue, before dying a swift death (could you imagine, apologising to Hamilton?). 

He pulls open his drawer, looks down on her smiling face. 

Goodness. Had she always been so beautiful? With a delicate hand he pulled the frame out, slowly, to assure he did not splinter the frame or crack the glass. His Martha. No one had dared talk back to him, until she had. They had been in college, her a late arrival, he a stuck-up prick (worse than he was now) that had fallen in love the second they had met eyes. She’d made him work for it, of course. Dangling her attention, striking where it hurt him most, but Thomas was blinded by her. Her grace (she held herself like a Queen), her beauty (impossible symmetry) and her attitude. Every time she popped her hip and looked up at him with a scowl his heart wept at the perfect of her. 

The death was painless, he had been promised. 

He could not imagine anything as devastating not hurting her, too. A drunk driver speeding down a quiet road, she on her way home from his dorm. Guilt about it never left Thomas, she shouldn’t have been there that night, but he had begged, pleaded, dragged her back to his dorm room. She had giggled and swatted at him, putting up very little fight. She had loved him, he had loved her, and he remembered his sleep-dazed mind sitting up, telling her to stay that night. She had laughed. She had kissed him. ‘I’ll only be a second,’ she whispered, tucking the duvet up to his chin. ‘Only a second, you big baby,’ and Thomas had rolled over, he had believed her. 

Sometimes, when it was too quiet, he could imagine it.

The screech of tyres. Burning rubber. Her fragile body in the headlights, car swerving over the road she knew so well. Then, the collapse. First, her lungs, her shattered rib cage rattling around in her as if she was a pot of pills. Being thrown down the road, the crack of her skull, pushing into her brain. Killing her. She had to feel it, there had to be a moment of pain, he knew that. They were being nice when they said it had been painless. Everything nice in him had left at the news.

Hamilton, in a twisted way, reminded him of her. The attitude. The unwavering hatred. It all felt like deja vu. Except, of course, not. Banter with Martha had been love-fuelled - they never truly aimed to hurt - and all Hamilton was was a little man of spite. 

Thomas slides the photo back into his desk where her eyes could ask no questions he could not answer. 

He picked up Alexander Hamilton’s folder and entered the number into his cellphone, shooting a message instantly. 

‘Coffee, now.’ Then, because the halfwit probably assumed the clearance coffee was the best, ‘From Lafayette’s place.’ He’s not given a reply. But, he hears Hamilton’s footsteps go by, followed quite loudly with;

“Prick!” Aimed at his door. Thomas couldn’t help but smile. He hated Hamilton, but, apparently, not as much as Hamilton made out to hate him. 

A delicate knock rings out on his door, followed by familiar coughing. 

“Come in, James,” he steps in, handkerchief to his mouth. “How many times? You don’t have to knock.” James nodded through his gasping coughs, that shook his body and left him breathless. Thomas felt his eyebrows go together in concern. “Hey, wow, sit down,” he swept round the desk (so different from the angry man with Hamilton), easing his friend onto one of the faded, black fabric couches. “Have you been taking your medicine?” James nodded, giving one final splutter before gasping in air. Thomas retracted the hand on the mans arm, still watching him with concern. 

“Sorry Thomas,” and he smiled in that friendly way he did with everyone, although it felt more sincere when aimed at Thomas. “I meant to bring you a manuscript but it seems I’ve forgot.”

“That’s okay, gee, gave me a bit of a fright,” and despite himself Thomas’ hand fluttered to his chest, clutching where his heart would be. “You’ll be sending me to early grave one of these days, James Madison, mark my words.” James laughed softly, handkerchief balled up in his hand.

“Where’s the assistant?” 

“Getting me coffee.” James shook his head at Thomas. 

“We have interns for that, Thomas.” 

“He’s really just a glorified intern, James. Besides, I wouldn’t let him near a manuscript if a gun was at my head. Wait here,” and Thomas went over to his desk, retrieving Hamilton’s open file before giving it to his friend who’s eyes danced down the page. 

“N-A? How can qualifications be non-applicable?” Thomas nodded in a ‘my point’ kind of way as James flipped up the first page. Everything else seemed to be in order, well written and put together. “I don’t understand. Perhaps it was a mistake?” Thomas snorted and shook his head.

“Washington doesn’t just let mistakes in here, you know that,” which they both did, were quite thankful for. “And the kids a Caribbean orphan, James, he doesn’t exactly scream ‘hire me’, even if what he did to Lee was brilliant.” They chuckled at the memory. Lee staggering back into the office, limbs as far from his body as possible, drenched to the bone, white shirt probably never white again. Someone had put him in his place, alright, and the office loved it. 

“Washington has his reasons. He’s your assistant, you have every right to ask, you know. If you’re worried.” Thomas mulled this over, before deciding he didn’t care if Hamilton had never attended a class in his life. A coffee boy didn’t exactly need an education. 

“Here you go, Mr. Jefferson,” Hamilton slams the coffee onto Thomas’ desk, the warm liquid inside sloshing dangerously close to the rim. It seems Hamilton considers tipping it over, fingers brushing the edge, before he thinks better of it. 

“I guess the search for manners was fruitless, Hamilton?” Hamilton folded his arms behind his back. 

“I follow by example, Mr. Jefferson,” Thomas tightens his jaw and knows James can see that but doesn’t care. 

“Who’s exactly? A six year old being told ‘no’?” Hamilton frowned, glared. 

“It does feel like that, yes,” Thomas stood, but Hamilton was already walking out the room, leaving as he had entered (abruptly and uninvited). 

“Thomas, if you don’t like him around the best thing to do is push him. It worked with literally every other assistant Washington assigned to you.” Thomas sighs, heading back for his desk as James stood. “What exactly are you waiting for?” Thomas shrugged, before deciding no harm could come of telling James. 

“I don’t know. I like arguing with him. He matches me, intellectually, and he’s a quick-witted little bastard, too.” James sighed and shook his head. 

“Thomas, if he’s incompetent you can’t drag him around because you like fighting with him, that’s not how any of this works. Positions have to be earned.” Thomas rolled his eyes, looking at his computer where a new email was sat waiting for attention. 

“Yeah, Jemmy, hold that thought all the way to your office where you can grumble about me, okay?” Thomas waved his hand, an expression telling James he should go, and he did (because he was good like that).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!   
> Thought I was gonna get an upload schedule but apparently that doesn’t satisfy me. Wanted to get out something decent today instead of filler.   
> Have a good day :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW; A. Ham’s PTSD with storms. Sorry not sorry.

Rain pounded down into New York.

Alex had been on his way to work, quite happily he might add, when there was a sudden crack of thunder and the heavens opened above him. Every nerve in his body had set on fire, demanding he run from the rain instead of standing there paralysed with fear. It’s fight or flight, he reminded himself, pushing one foot in front of another as messages bombarded his phone. All asking if he was okay, if he needed a place to stay, if he needed a friendly face right now. He didn’t respond, fingers too shaky, hoping they would get the hint and leave him alone. It was only his second day on the job and he wasn’t calling in sick if someone had a gun to his head. Despite really, really wanting to. 

Shouldering the door inward, dripping wet, he tried to offer Angelica a smile she didn’t reciprocate. Instead, mouthing ‘you okay’ in a discreet enough manner and Alexander nodded even though he was trembling, heart pounding. It was humiliating enough everyone felt the need to flock around him when it rained, he did not need that following him here. He was a big boy, he could deal with it himself. 

With a shaking hand he knocked on Jefferson’s door, pushing it open without waiting for an answer and sighing as the warmth from a heater hit him stepping over the threshold. It almost felt like he was home again. Except the bastard behind the desk, head tilted, smirk mocking, as the rain pounded on the glass to be let inside. Alex remembered being inside, feeling safe, when a window like that had shattered onto him, cutting him up. He shook it off, hand on his wrist where a piece of glass had gouged out his skin (when help began to arrive it was still jammed in there as Alex wandered aimlessly, lightheaded and tired). Reliving memories helped nobody anytime soon, especially not him. 

“Morning Hamilton, get a bit wet?” An uninvited shudder answered as the cold set into his bones. A blue umbrella was leant against Jefferson’s desk, matching today’s suit and Alex wondered if he had an umbrella for every outfit. It made him smile through the fear. 

“Only a bit, Jefferson.” He returns, not in the mood for a fight as the sound of thunder ripped open his insides, made him feel sick. 

“No biting remark?” The quirked eyebrow showed he was not surprised, but amused that Alex was unusually quiet. Or, perhaps, he was usually this quiet, Jefferson didn’t seem able to gauge that out. 

“Is there anything you want?” The tired tone is what makes Jefferson sit up, looking surprised now. 

“Awh, is Hamilton tired?” His baby voice is grating and Alexander is really not in the mood to deal with him today, so instead of giving an answer he goes to leave. “Hey, where’s my morning coffee?” 

“You didn’t ask for a morning coffee?” 

“Well, I want one. Every day. When you come into work.” Alexander cannot stop himself rolling his eyes.

“You still owe me for yesterday. Four dollars fifty.” Jefferson pulled his wallet from his pocket, flicked it open (Alex hates himself for thinking its a little sexy) and handed Alexander a ten. 

“For the coffee today, and what I owe you. Don’t spend it all at once,” Alex wanted so badly to throw his jeering face out the window. Lighting splintered the sky and he flinched. Jefferson frowned. “Hamilton?” 

“Okay, I am going!” He snaps, almost running out the room. God, if the rain didn’t let up he wasn’t going to make it through today at all! Especially not if Jefferson had him running in and out of it all day because his fat ego liked Alex doing whatever he wanted. Screw the fact is was his job, he didn’t have the nerves left to go back out there again. 

“Mr. Hamilton?” Alex jumps a considerable amount, despite the fact it is only Washington’s calm, collected voice. “Are you quite alright?” Alexander nodded, knowing his voice would give him away. “Where are you going?” Shit.

“Oh, um, just to get, to get Mr Jefferson his, his morning coffee, sir.” Washington raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re alright?” No. Alexander wanted to curl up into a little ball under his desk and cry until the rain stopped. However, he knew he couldn’t do that, not just because it was unprofessional and would get him fired, but because he was sick of feeling so sick every time it so much as rained. 

“Yes, yes, sorry,” Alex rubbed his face, smiled as sincerely as he could. Washington offered his umbrella. 

“Here, before you catch your death,” and Alex could not be more thankful as he took the modest black umbrella, rain still coating the material. 

“Thank you sir.” 

Hercules was caring as Alexander sat behind the counter and cried into his hands, Washington’s umbrella pressed up against his shin making his trousers wet. The coffee shop was quiet for so early in the morning but Alexander could not be more thankful as Hercules rubbed his shoulder affectionately as every clap of thunder shook his bones. Jefferson’s coffee was sat on the counter, growing cold with every passing second, but Alex could not imagine moving from this spot ever again. When he had pushed into the shop, wild-eyed, babbling about Jefferson (‘the actual prick, Herc, you would not believe-‘) he had been fine. Distracted. But then Hercules had asked, softly, ‘you okay, ‘Lex?’ There was no holding back his tears then. Hercules had gotten him sat down, having a glass of water, telling him all about Lafayette’s sudden sickness and how John and ‘Liza hadn’t come in yet for reasons unknown and, goodness, did Alex have to have left? 

Still, he knew showing up with a cold coffee was suicide and bid goodbye to Hercules after washing his face with cold water.   
What he really wasn’t expecting when he barged into Jefferson’s office, halfway through insulting him, was John and Eliza sat awkwardly on the fabric couches, or Jefferson’s amused smirk.

“Hamilton, you sure did take your time,” suddenly Alex was paralysed in the doorway, mouth still open from calling Jefferson a prick, coffee still in his hand, feet still poised for the walk to the desk. “Do shut your mouth before you catch flies, Hamilton,” which jerked him into awareness. He snapped his mouth shut, placing the coffee onto Jefferson’s desk. “That’s better,” he heard Jefferson mutter, just loud enough for Alex to hear, and Alex could feel his face heat up and all he wants do is chop Jefferson’s head off with his thin computer screen. “Oh, you’re little friends are here for you. Did I not make it clear I didn’t want your relations messing with my work?” 

“Yes, you did, but that was only because you thought I was sleeping around.” Alex bites back. Jefferson raises an eyebrow. 

“Well, John Laurens is here too, isn’t he?” Alexander wanted to reach out and choke him, then himself. The reaction confirmed Jefferson’s suspicions. 

“You have five minutes for pleasantries, Alex. Five.” Alex nodded, jerking his head up and down, feeling Jefferson’s stare the whole way out the room, John and Eliza ushered in front of him. 

They talked as they walked. 

“Well, he’s a prick with a stick up his ass isn’t he?” John says as they head toward the elevator so Alex can return the umbrella to Washington. 

“John-“ Eliza said in a warning tone. 

“No, he’s right, ‘Liza. Jefferson is dick-sucking asshole,” Alex announces as the elevator doors shut soundlessly. “I hate him.” 

“Oh, ‘Lex,” ‘Liza took hold of his arm in the comforting way she always had, looking up at him with sympathy. At least in the metal box he cannot hear the thunder or see the lightening - a bonus he didn’t think this slow piece of crap would have. “Are you feeling okay? When we couldn’t get hold of you this morning I panicked, thought something had happened to you,” she reached up and checked his face, tittering at the bags under his eyes. 

“Yeah, dude, reply to messages your friends send. I nearly had a heart attack over here!” Alex laughed, shaking his head at them both. 

“Thank you for the worry, but it really isn’t necessary. Truly. I’m fine.” They looked sceptical as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Alex stepped out first, shaking the umbrella in hope of drying it quicker, when he notices the secretary is no where to be seen. “You two wait here, okay? I’ll be right back,” Alex knocked, hesitantly, on Washington’s door. 

“Come in!” He called, and Alexander pushed open the door, shutting it behind him firmly. The window he had been admiring last week is now the bane of his existence - he can see the grey sky, every lightning strike and drop of rain. His claimed nerves work themselves up again. “Ah, Mr. Hamilton, I see you’re here to return the umbrella?” Washington stood as Alex approached, praying the sky would remain grey in silence. Seen not heard. 

“Yes sir,” he handed it, handle side up so Washington wouldn’t get his hand wet, when the worst growl of thunder yet tore up the sky. The umbrella clattered to the floor, Alex’s chest constricted, his lungs shrunk and his heart hammered for attention, suddenly he was small. Crying, calling out, throat raw, coughing as the dust of shattered buildings filled his mouth, glass cuts bleeding harshly, the people, the screaming and running people. 

Running past him, calling for family, begging almost, little children huddled against their mother as the hunt for a missing father ripped her down the middle. 

A collapsing house. 

How had he not seen? 

Everyone running out the way, hurrying, as the building collapsed on top of him, gracelessly, suffocating. 

“Hamilton!” Alex let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. When did he fall to the floor? Curled up in the foetal position next to Washington’s dripping umbrella, shaking so violently. “Goodness, you look like death!” Washington offered his hand, had Alex back on his feet and in a seat. “Are you alright?” Alex couldn’t speak, throat too small, just nodded even as he curled up tight. “You don’t seem very alright to me, son,” all Alex could do was make a noise of annoyance. “Do you need a doctor? Are you sick? You seem faint, feverish,” Washington attempted a diagnosis in vain, watching Alexander shake his head and fold inward smaller. “Look, let me call Mr. Jefferson up here and we’ll sort this.” Alex felt humiliation eating him up inside, but lighting lights the fear in his eyes anew. 

Washington was on the phone for a matter of moments. 

There was silence, beside the patter of rain, between them. 

———————————

Thomas did not want to know what Hamilton had done in five minutes to make Washington call Thomas up to his office under urgent matters, but knew he was gonna kill the little rat for it. He had been quite happily sending an email to a wannabe writer who had written the worst book on the human condition he had ever seen when he got the call. Something in Washington’s voice had made him sit up straighter, listen closer, and when he sees Hamilton’s little friends something is off and he knows it. 

He doesn’t knock. 

Hamilton’s friends at his coat tails. 

Then, there he was, the little bugger curled up all small on one of Washington’s perfect chairs like a terrified little kid. While Thomas hardened at the cowardice, Hamilton’s friends rushed to him, cooed at him, the lady holding his hand affectionately. Washington seems relieved to be eased of watching over Hamilton, approaching Thomas. 

“Would you have happened upon what’s wrong with Mr. Hamilton?” Thomas wants to bite back that he, frankly, did not give a damn what was wrong with precious ickle Hamilton. But, as lighting tore open the sky and thunder bellowed, seeing Hamilton flinch and shy deeper into the chair, hits something deeper in his chest. It reminded him of being a child, falling off his bike and breaking his arm, his unwavering fear of the scraping noise tyres made under friction. 

“I- no sir. I’m afraid not.” 

“You don’t?” It was the young lady, something in her round face reminded him of Angelica and Peggy, sweeter, almost, but similar. “I suppose that makes sense. It’s not something you put on a resume, Mr. Washington.” 

“Elizabeth! I didn’t recognise you.” She smiled, beamed, as if the sun had come out from the clouds. Something Thomas would like if he was more inclined towards women. “You know what’s wrong? Is he not sleeping?” The concern in Washington’s voice is soft and sudden Thomas almost gapes.They had known Hamilton for all of forty eight hours and Washington was acting like a worried father. Elizabeth worried her lip. 

“Um, it’s really not my place.”

“Is there any way we can accommodate?” She shook her head, pony tail shaking with her. 

“Unless you can stop the rain,” Hamilton croaked, sat up now, looking less like death and more like someone just terrified out their own body. “I should have mentioned. Under normal circumstances I would have felt the need to call in sick, but, it is only my second day,” Thomas frowned. Hamilton cleared his throat. “Back on my home island there was a hurricane. It destroyed everything. Including my tolerance of thunderstorms, I’m afraid. It’s like PTSD, if anything.” Hamilton shrugged it away, trying to stand shakily. 

Thomas digested. 

So Hamilton really was scared of the rain, for real reasons, reasons he could not even begin to imagine or comprehend. Weather up in Monticello was always so peaceful, of course they had rain, but nothing as extreme as a hurricane, it seemed impossible to imagine. He felt almost bad for being mad, but just because Hamilton struggled didn’t mean he was any less of a prick - it certainly explained his behaviour, but not his colourful insults when the sun shone. Same person as twenty minutes ago, just more of a puzzle Thomas had managed to complete. 

“Goodness,” Washington was the first to speak. “Oh, goodness,” he repeated, moving back behind his desk and sitting heavily. 

“Sir I need no special treatment,” even as he said it Hamilton twitched, the rain outside picking up. “I’m normally really quite good at this.” 

“Mr. Jefferson?” Thomas straightened. 

“Sir?” 

“You’re to darken your windows and have Hamilton in your office with you. Today and every day when the weather is like this.” 

“But sir-“ Thomas couldn’t believe this. So Hamilton curled up and cried to daddy Washington and now Thomas had to open his doors to him? He was the exact same coffee-boy that had bad-mouthed the South (his goddamn home!) with a straight face, even a smile. How was he to put Hamilton in his place when Washington thought it so necessary to have Hamilton in an office he couldn’t earn even if he worked harder than hard? 

“No, I wont hear anything of it.” Elizabeth and John Laurens looked at Hamilton, who was glowing red and angry. Why? It was Thomas here who had to suffer. 

“All due respect, Mr. Washington, but I’ve several points on why that’s a bad idea. Including work production being drastically decreased, on Mr. Jefferson’s side.” But it seemed the other points were forgotten when Washington scowled. At leats Hamilton knew he had a place in the first place. 

“There will be no swaying me otherwise. It’s not up to you, it’s up to me. That’ll be all,” and Thomas watched Elizabeth rubs Hamilton’s arm before staying behind to talk to Washington about God-knows-what. John pushes up against Hamilton, whispers into his ear, something that makes Hamilton blush and swat him playfully. It’s awfully domestic for something Thomas knew was anything but. 

————————————

“Fuck, you’re still shaking, Alex,” John mutters into Alex’s ear from where they were pressed against each other in a neglected cleaning cupboard. “It really shouldn’t be that hot,” he adds, running his fingers down Alex’s jaw in the way that always makes Alexander’s stomach flip flop with butterflies. While it was and always would be a no-feelings-attached just-casual-sex thing, Alex couldn’t stop the reactions John could get from him with some gentle strokes and murmured words. 

“John, I’m at work,” Alex mutters as John shifts his collar to kiss down Alex’s neck in that inviting way he always does. 

“I know, but you scared me shitless this morning. It’s a shock thing,” John muses, teeth closing onto Alex’s poor earlobe and, god, the whimper he responds with has always been embarrassing. 

“A shock thing, really?” Alex’s hand trembled as it disappeared up John’s shirt, trembled against the hard, flat plane of his skin. “We can’t do this while I’m at work, John. I need you as a friend.” John moves off of him instantly. 

Ever since they started this, ever since they agreed they would extend their relationship in such a way, they decided they needed a code. Not something that was as blatant and hurtful as ‘no’ but something that meant exactly that. After a lot of deliberation, naked, in bed, they’d settled on ‘I need you as a friend’. Even when it sounded weird, added onto something else being said, it meant the same thing to them both, it was a line not to cross. 

So, John detaches and fixes Alexander’s collar without a word, without looking upset or offended. It was exactly what those words were meant to do. “As a friend, you look like shit,” John joked, poking Alex playfully in the ribs. 

“As a friend, I always look like shit,” Alex grins back. He could not feel more grateful for his relationship with John if he tried. Nothing was too big, nothing was too small, they shared everything. So, without thinking, he mutters what he’s been thinking for days. “Jefferson is so fucking hot.” John laughed. 

“You do not have to tell me twice. How does he get to look that good in fucking magenta? No one is supposed to look good in magenta.”

“Right? Then he comes in today wearing fucking blue, which, by the way, matches his expensive ass umbrella, looking like an actual snack. Why does he have to be such an asshole?” John shrugs, backing off and popping the door open, allowing them both out. “Equal amounts of ‘fuck you’ and ‘fuck me’ right there.” 

“Sounds like someone has a little crush,” John teases as they approach Jefferson’s door. Alex blushes faintly, feeling it hit a little too close to the nail head. 

“Oh, piss off. Hercules struggles running that bloody coffee shop as is.” John rolled his eyes, playfully nudging Alex into the door. They both knew Alex hated Jefferson (which he did), it was a fact, it was like winding up a friend about being a bit too close to a fellow friend.

“If you need anything, call, alright?”

“Yes, John, I know.” 

“I’m only a phone call away, Alex. Seriously.”

“Seriously go away, you’re making me seem sappy,” John grinned and loudly kissed him on the cheek, Alex waving him away with a smile. “Go!” John sauntered down the hall and Alex watched the elevator swallow him and carry him away. 

Then he turned to the door - the ‘T.Jefferson’ reflecting his face in gold - took a deep breath and let himself in. There he was, the prick himself, hunched over a thick manuscript, looking from screen to paper. 

“Always hated lovey goodbyes,” Jefferson says, after some time of Alex standing there. His windows were darkened a deep reflective grey, shielding the room from any natural light and the storm that Alexander could barely hear grumbling anymore. He felt safe, there, in Jefferson’s stupidly lavish office, and hated that that was the feeling he got. 

“It wasn’t lovey,” Alex argued, rolling his eyes and sitting heavily onto the couch manning one cream wall. “He’s my friend.” With benefits, but Jefferson didn’t need to know that part. “Although, I see how you could get confused, what with not having any friends.” The clench of his jaw. Goodness, it was starting to get a little (and by little Alex means a really small but also massive amount) attractive. 

“Hold your tongue for once, Hamilton. I have to get this piece of crap proofread by tomorrow and I can’t do that with a headache.” Alex sat back, folding his legs up beneath him as Jefferson continued to look between screen and paper. Alex could not imagine what he was doing and felt helplessly left out sat on the stupid couch as Jefferson pulled his lip beneath his teeth. Something in Alex’s mind responds by making him bite his lip, almost an exact mimic of Jefferson. A pity it was the moment Jefferson looked up, instantly letting his lip go free. “For gods sake, Hamilton, stop acting like a toddler.” Alexander wanted to poke out his tongue in response but bit it instead. Jefferson rubbed his temples. 

“Maybe if you gave me something to do I wouldn’t be such a headache, Jefferson.” Jefferson looked like Alex had hit him. 

“I’m not about to give some kid,” (Alex hated the nickname instantly and Jefferson could tell) “A manuscript to mess up even more.” 

“You don’t even know what I’m capable of!” 

“You’re obviously not capable of giving me a moment of peace.” Alex made a frustrated noise, wanting nothing more than to scream into the pillow next to him, restraining himself just so Jefferson wouldn’t get any satisfaction out of getting a rise (sadistic bastard). How was he meant to entertain himself in here? Sure, it was better than the excuse of a cubicle left and six cubicles down on the top but there still wasn’t anything to do. Alex doubted Jefferson would even send him out to coffee after Washington’s instructions. Not without losing his job (a happy thought for Alexander). “For goodness sake, Hamilton, here,” Jefferson tossed a slightly thinner manuscript that landed with a thud on the floor. “Now please stop that god-forsaken mumbling before I come over there and rip your tongue out.” 

Alex felt quite victorious, a little embarrassed too (he hadn’t realised he was mumbling) as he went and retrieved the manuscript on the floor. ‘The Day the Clock Struck Thirteen’. Certainly an... interesting name. It piqued his interest as he went and sat down, grasping at the air where his satchel should be except- no, he’d gone and shoved it under his cubicle desk when he arrived, expecting another day of sitting surrounded by typing. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To my cubicle? To get my bag?” 

“No, you’re not,” and Jefferson pressed a button on an intercom. “Please retrieve the bag from cubicle A12 and bring it here, thank you.” 

“Did you just say thank you to your secretary?” Alexander said with a bemused laugh (if he didn’t he would have exploded at Jefferson for feeling the need to keep him cooped up in here as if he was incapable of going to get a bag). 

“Yes.” 

“I didn’t realise you had that in you, Jefferson,” Alex clapped, slow and sarcastic. “I guess you want a medal for being nice to someone lower than you?” Thomas growled and something in Alexander’s stomach curled up (something that felt suspiciously like arousal). 

“Sit down and shut up Hamilton. Or would you prefer the removal of your tongue?” Jefferson looked up, barely, and Alexander went back to the couch and sat down as opposite-to-elegantly as possible. 

Moments later a young women with a high, blonde ponytail knocked, coming in after Jefferson shouted, with Alexander’s beat up little satchel in her dainty hands. She was pretty, Alex gave her that, in a plain sort of way that every woman got to be (they had to be special to see beauty after all) with her smooth face and neat hair. Without any words Jefferson waved toward Alexander, not looking up, so she pattered over in her flats and placed the bag next to Alex’s shins. They exchanged a smile, between people in the ‘lesser-than-Thomas-Jefferson-and-always-reminded-of-it’ club and Alex could certainly see her appeal to Jefferson. She was quiet, complaint, knew exactly what he wanted without words (she rushed to him with a new coffee in a Lafayette cup) and perhaps, to him, she was beautiful. 

“You’re nice to her because you want to fuck her,” Alex announced as soon as the door shut behind her. Jefferson sighed and rubbed his temples. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re being nice to her because you want to sleep with her, Jefferson. I’m sure the quiet ones are just your type.” Jefferson’s eyes glazed over for a moment, far off in a moment Alex couldn’t follow, before he snapped back.

“Do your work, Hamilton.” 

Alex rooted around in his bag. Once, twice, thrice. Shit. No pen. He glanced at where Jefferson violently crossed out a word, typing into his computer. Alexander cleared his throat, attracting Jeffersons’s attention. 

“A pen?” 

“Sorry?” 

Alex cleared his throat again. “I need a pen, please.” Jefferson smirked. 

“Hamilton not come prepared for school?” He asked in a baby voice, taking a red pen from his pot and throwing it Alexander’s way. Alex just managed to duck out of the way from where the perfect trajectory was aiming (his poor nose) so it could hit the wall behind him and fall softly onto the cushion next to him. “Oh no. It missed.” Then Jefferson looked back down onto the manuscript with no obvious plans of looking back up. “You have until next Wednesday to sort that out however it needs, Hamilton,” Jefferson informs without looking up. “So I can fix all your mistakes before handing it in Friday.” Alex counted to ten before looking at the first page. 

‘Mary was out of bed and the clock was stirking thirteen’. 

Goodness this was going to suck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii  
> Hope you like?   
> Have a good day :)


	4. Chapter 4

“What is this?” Thomas asks as Hamilton sets down his coffee next to the manuscript he remembers throwing yesterday. Hamilton has a smudge of red ink on his ear that Thomas isn’t quite sure why he noticed. 

“A manuscript.”

“Yes, I can fucking see that, Hamilton. Why are you giving it back?” Hamilton grinned like a kid (which he bloody well was) standing taller, almost, or at least looking a little taller. 

“I finished with it.” Thomas begs his face not to give away his immediate shock. He wanted to demand how the fuck Hamilton had finished proofing a four hundred page book in less than twenty four hours but felt that would be too satisfactory for Hamilton. Besides, he didn’t believe him. No one finished a four hundred page manuscript with extra words that had no need to be there and spelling errors that made the words ten times longer with a plot that was all over the place without needing a break. Which, it didn’t seem Hamilton had had. The bags under his eyes had doubled in size, great black smudges, like bruises. 

“Uh huh.” Thomas flicked through the pages. As far as he could see each page was covered in red ink notes. Skimming showed they varied on topic - from inconsistency to spelling - but were definitely present where they should have been, where Thomas would have put them. “Well done,” he drawls sarcastically, dropping the manuscript onto the pile sat on his ‘IN’ tray. 

“What do you want me to do now?” Hamilton asks, sounding impatient and Thomas really did not care for that. The kid thought he clever for staying up all night doing a job he had plenty of time for? Had he expected Thomas to be... impressed? He certainly was not. 

“Twiddle with your thumbs, Hamilton. Preferably at your own desk?”

“But-“ 

“I don’t care that you did what I asked so quickly. That was irresponsible of you - many of your later comments will be even more rubbish than the others no doubt because of your tired little mind. Now shoo, Hamilton. I’m not in the mood for your little tricks.” Hamilton made an offended noise, clutching his satchel and storming out the office with a frustrated air about him, head tilted up as if walking away made him the bigger person. Thomas ran a hand through his hair, looking at the manuscript covered in Hamilton’s scribbles. Even the title had been critiqued.   
‘All evidence suggests it should be the night. Or time.’ The red ink read in slant and Thomas hated that he agreed. After leafing through it when he was given it Friday of last week (the day Hamilton was hired) he had even had the exact same thought, dismissing it and the manuscript for another time. It angered him that Hamilton was good at this, when Thomas had been sat here thinking he was useless for just about everything. Thomas didn’t liked being proved wrong by a pipsqueak that had his head full of fantasies. 

“Mr. Jefferson?” Sally’s voice asks from the intercom. 

“Yes?” 

“Mr. Washington would like to see you in his office.” Thomas groaned, releasing the button and sitting back. It seemed all he did these days was spend time in that office because of Hamilton, so help him god if he found Hamilton in that office too someone was losing their head. Preferably Hamilton.   
Thomas holds the elevator for a moment, to allow John Adams to catch up to the elevator, red in the face. Frustration rolls off him in waves but Thomas couldn’t care less - Adams was as much of a lazy ass as Lee - but when Adams sighs he knows he’s in for it now. Adams had an incapability to know that no one on the face of the earth gave an actual shit. 

“Your assistant, you need to remind him who’s in charge around here.” Thomas raised an eyebrow. “That little bastard! Who does he think he is?” Thomas shrugged, a feeling a little too alike pride settling into his chest. Hamilton certainly had a talent with words. They hit the top floor and Thomas stepped out at the soonest convenience. “Tell him his place, Jefferson!” Thomas smiled, had to restrain from saluting, as Adams disappeared downwards. 

“Ah, Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Washington is waiting for you.” The secretary nodded, and Thomas let himself into the office. 

It never ceased to amaze him how well put together Washington’s office was. Demanding respect, but in a calm way (he guessed Martha Washington had that effect on the room) that said yes, I’m above you, but I’m human too. Thomas had never been able to get the balance right in his own office, having photos on his desk made it seem too sentimental and warm, being clean as anything made it cold and work-driven. He preferred the latter, in the end, deciding he was there to work, not to stare at pictures, or for other people to stare at his pictures. 

“Ah, Mr. Jefferson,” Washington turned from watching outside the window, soft smile on his face and Thomas is internally relieved. Not getting fired then. No sign of Hamilton either - both very good signs - which really only left confusion as he frowned. Washington sat. Thomas followed his lead. 

“Sir?” 

“I’ve asked you here to thank you, actually,” Thomas feels his mouth drop open, before hastily shutting it again. (Washington had never thanked him before, often admonishing him for his eccentric methods, the only praise Thomas had ever received was a bemused smile.) “For all that happened with Mr. Hamilton yesterday, you kept your head and wits about you. I assume everything went smoothly within the office?” Washington was prying and Thomas didn’t know why. He shifted awkwardly in his seat. 

“Um, yes sir. It did.” 

“Good. Accommodating to this kind of thing is important, no?”

“I, I guess sir.” 

“Come now, Mr. Jefferson, you can be honest with me. What do you think of Hamilton?” A million very colourful and unprofessional words ran thorough Thomas’ head in a stampede (imbecile, bastard, welfare, poor-boy...) but what come out his mouth shocks even him. 

“He’s a good kid.” 

Thomas reclines in the chair. He’s saving Hamilton’s job right now, he knows that, if he told Washington how Hamilton really responded to his authority the kid would be out of a job in a heartbeat. Perhaps he is a little (a little) fond of Hamilton’s bad mouth and intellect, if only to have a well-suited person to spar with. It wasn’t like Hamilton didn’t do decent work, either, every coffee he gave Thomas was drinkable, not to mention the miracle Thomas didn’t believe he’d done with that manuscript. Yes, he was a little prick, but he was a bearable prick, if only for the enthusiasm, the work-driven air he carried. 

Washington’s eyebrows went up. 

“Really? You don’t want to, perhaps, transfer him to someone else? Your friend, Mr. Madison, perhaps?” Thomas frowned, could not imagine Hamilton sat in James’ office between the potted plants and coat stand, couldn’t imagine Hamilton anywhere but sat on his couch, glaring, but looking very much at home. 

“Why would you suggest such a thing?” He asks, trying to sound airy, uncaring, even though he hates the thought of losing Hamilton to some imbecile that would fire him for his skill instead of tolerate it. Train it. As he planned to do. 

“No reason,” Washington leant back, filling his big chair with his commanding aura, and Thomas knew there was a reason. There had to be. Washington had never doubted him before, never prompted him like this. 

“Sir, I’m sure whatever it is I can take it.” 

“It’s just... theres been notes taken on... raised voices.” Thomas pulls a face, suddenly wishing he hadn’t asked. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me. I understand you have your methods but if Mr. Hamilton is a bit much for you...” 

“What? He is not!” Washington assumes Thomas is growing angry at being told he may be incapable of anything. Thomas is imagining Hamilton kicked out by people who’d taunt him but be unable to take what they dish out. “I assure you everything is under control. Yes, me and Hamilton debate, but no more than any other person does. It’s quite refreshing, actually, to have someone who’s willing to disagree with me, besides you sir.” Washington could understand that. Thomas stood in meetings and said something and his colleagues just bowed to his ideas, agreed, didn’t dare to oppose his quick tongue and wit. Perhaps having someone to disagree with would do some good in his anti-social manner. 

“If you’re sure, Mr. Jefferson.” 

“Deadly.” 

Washington nodded and motioned to the door. 

“That’ll be all.”

Hamilton was stood, leant against Thomas’ door (looking cute, Thomas admits to himself silently, he could see what John Laurens saw in the idiot) waiting for him, straightening marginally as Thomas stepped out the elevator. Hamilton may not be outward in his respect, but it was certainly there. Thomas took the key from his pocket (he always locked his office behind him after a rather tragic incident that was a family-visit-birthday-surprise). 

“Aw, waiting on me, Hamilton?” Hamilton glared up at him, watching Thomas slide in the key and unlock the door with an audible click, pushing open the door and laughing quietly as Hamilton stumbled inward. 

“Prick,” he says, fighting for balance as Thomas shut the door behind himself, shedding his jacket and draping it over the corner of his desk. 

“What is it, Hamilton?” He asks, fingers running over book collection, searching for one title in particular. 

“I, ahem, are you sure there isn’t anything you’d like me to do? Hell, I’d even go on a coffee run right now Jefferson. It’s very flattering you want me to sit and look pretty,” Thomas’ temper flared. “But I’m more than capable.” 

“Then you’re capable of sitting at your desk doing nothing, right?” Thomas pulled the hardcover form where it was snuggled, dropping it onto his desk, watching Hamilton for the next move. 

“What’s that?” Hamilton ventured further in, eyeing the book with a kind of hunger and Thomas almost groaned aloud (another bloody reader). 

“A book, Hamilton. It may be foreign to you, being unable to read yet, it’s something adults indulge in.” Hamilton stuck out his tongue, shocking Thomas at just how childish and effective it is at getting the message across. Unfortunately, his distant mind, allows for Hamilton to pick up the book and begin leafing though the worn paper. “Hey!” He shouts, Hamilton stepping away from the desk, book wind open and cradled in his arms. 

“This is good...” he mumbles before Thomas snatches it back, harsh enough to pry it away and gentle enough not to rip the precious pages. He flicked to the page he’d been looking for anyway. 

“Here, Hamilton, listen to this,” he cleared his throat dramatically. “‘To be the authority is rewardable, yes, but to bow to authority is harder’. Perhaps doing as I asked would make you the bigger person. Figuratively, of course.” Thomas shut the book with a snap, placing it on his desk. Hamilton had flushed between the time Thomas had glanced down to when he was looking now, a blush that looked to have originated from fluster that had merged into anger. 

“I’m a perfectly normal height!” 

Thomas tilted his head and smiled, bemused. 

“Not all of us can be a giant fucking tree, you know? Some of us don’t get those very lucky genes-“ Hamilton cut himself off, withdrew, instantly. A feeling suspiciously like worry lit up in Thomas’ stomach. 

“Hamilton?” But Hamilton was storming out, slamming the door after him, even as Thomas stood he knew he would not be chasing Hamilton as if he were some little lady in a romcom that needed a kiss to make her stay. Kissing Hamilton? Frankly, ewwwwww. 

————————————

Alex let his head hit his desk, trying not to think about inherited genes about the unknown part of his DNA. He’d known his father for ten years, but had never really known him. What he could remember was hazy, a man who was closed off, that argued with his mother behind closed doors that Alex couldn’t enter. It was Alex’s fault for bringing it up, really, whenever the idea of genetics came into mind he could only wonder if he had eyes like his father, or bone structure, if his father had been the same height. A rabbit hole too deep to indulge in. Besides, he knew he had his mother’s eyes (could remember that clearly) and he was okay with that. His mother hadn’t left him, she had died.   
Jefferson tapped the top of the cubicle with a pen in a bored manner. 

“Hamilton,” he said, leaning against his hand. “I need you to get coffee for me and Madison. My usual and a fancy mocha for him. Lots of chocolate. Can you do that?” Alex was just glad that he’d get to leave this desk. “Great, because then I need you to photocopy this,” Jefferson handed over a paper that looked like something you’d find in a school, promoting reading. “Marketing sent it down here because their copier is broken. Oh, and,” Jefferson jammed a dry-cleaning card into Alexander’s hand. “I need you to pick up my cleaning. I would but I have a meeting. Do this all by four and I’ll let you off early, sound good?” No, it did not. Sure, Alex wanted something to do, but not Jefferson’s chores! 

“Don’t you have a million servants to do these things?” He asked, looking down at the card and debating the subway or running there. 

“Yes, I do, but you’re just my favourite.” Jefferson smiled sweetly, before disappearing down the hall back to his office. Alex banged his head off his desk again. He’d gotten what he wanted, sure, but not quite. 

Alexander got the dry-cleaning first. From a small place with an elderly woman behind the counter who gushed about ‘Mr. Jefferson’ the second Alex said who the order was for as she fished through the washing. Like an adoring grandmother, before dropping the clean clothes onto the counter and telling Alex that would be fifty dollars, please. Alex did not carry that kind of money. Not only because he didn’t have it, but because he was pretty sure the homeless in the subway could smell if someone was carrying more than a twenty in their wallet. So he blushed and said he didn’t have that money, scribbling Jefferson’s number onto the piece of paper the lady had next to the cash register. ‘Call this,’ he told her with a smile, clothes in his arms, ‘Jefferson will get back to you on that fifty dollars,’ and she trusted him because he seemed sweet and so did Jefferson. (She’s right about one of us, Alex though on the trek back to the office).

Jefferson didn’t even look up from aggressive typing as Alexander lay the bags of clean clothes onto the same couch he had been all curled up on yesterday. 

Next, Alex made the considerably shorter journey to the coffee shop, where he was greeted with smiles and hugs. 

“Look at you, doing the coffee run,” Eliza straightened his tie and rose his collar up over the fading hickeys. She knew better than to ask. 

“Yeah, for Jeffershit and co.” Alex grumbled, reminding John of Jefferson’s coffee order and the unspecified details of Madison’s. 

“Oh, come mon ami, Thomas is not so bad,” Lafayette greeted him warmly, with a hug and kiss to each cheek. “You just do not know ‘im.” Alex rolled his eyes. 

“No, I don’t know him, because he’s an insufferable bastard that only lets me do coffee runs.” Lafayette tutted under his breath. 

“He has been through a lot, you know. Thinking of Martha...” Lafayette trailed away, wiped at his eyes as they filled with tears, shaking his head as if that could shake away the memory. “We all deal with pains differently Alex, mon ami.” 

“Who’s Martha?” Lafayette hesitated. 

“Is not my place,” he said. “My English not so good,” he continued. “The sorry.” Lafayette had learned a long time ago that pretending to not know English made people leave him alone. 

“Dis-moi!” He demanded, and Lafayette grumbled a string of French causes under his breath. Growing comfortable in the English language meant Hercules had given it up, but he often forgot Alexander had been fluent before arriving in America, unable to just drop the language. 

“Fine, fine. Martha was Thomas’ girlfriend, in college days. She died, in car accident. Thomas was never the same... they really loved each other, you know?” He glanced at Hercules, a warmth growing in his chest (how lucky he had been to find someone that made him feel how Martha had made Thomas feel). Alex wasn’t saying anything, watching the floor. “It was long time ago, Alex, don’t be inclined to negativity. Thomas didn’t like talking about it then, he probably doesn’t now.” Alexander nodded, took the coffees. 

He had always thought of Jefferson as a sheltered little know-it-all, someone unknowing of pain, of grief. Something in his heart sympathised, losing his mother was like losing as extension of himself, but he also couldn’t set aside the way Jefferson had been treating him. He had been the same guy that lost Martha when he called Alex ‘welfare’ and a ‘kid’. He had been the same guy that lost Martha when he bossed Alexander around in that bored tone, practically encouraging his own mutilation. 

Still, Alex felt his anger softening at the edges. He handed Jefferson the coffee instead of slamming it onto the desk, giving the same courtesy to Madison, staring at the now empty sofa. Closed the door gentler, allowing it a soft slam. Photocopied in a silence of consideration. Did he keep treating Jefferson like the asshole he was or resign to understanding and soften his actions a little? Sure, he wanted to act as if Lafayette hadn’t said anything, while knowing he absolutely could not. He resides to continuing the onslaught, but only (mainly, even) when Jefferson started it. 

The first breakdown of the walls keeping them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Surprise!  
> Thinking of changing the update schedule for Wednesday and Sunday? (Mainly because I have a lot written and am so down for feedback!) 
> 
> Dis moi - tell me (thank you google translate) 
> 
> Also sorry if this is kind of short? Have a good day :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so things start happening in this one? Just so you know? :)

Friday and Alex was so ready for the weekend it was unreal. 

They’d celebrate his first week of work, hang around, have a much tamer weekend than the last, but it’d be good and warm and that’s what Alex wanted after the up and down week he had had. Not to mention if Jefferson gave him that sceptical look every time Alexander was even slightly nice (no more coffee spills on that stupid rich fucks desk) then he’d find himself missing his eyes. So, yeah, Alexander was more than willing to head home and take a breather from the press of the office. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it, or couldn’t cope, but there was only so much back-and-forth with Jefferson and running for coffee he could handle. Give him real work, a manuscript that went on to the ends of the earth, he could handle that without a second thought and have it on your desk by Friday. Jefferson was not giving him the chance to do that, so he often sat, staring at his computer screen and kicking his satchel for hours before Jefferson summoned him to get more coffee. (He wished he’d savoured that precious manuscript.) 

“Hamilton?” Jefferson looks unimpressed at the coffee. “Where’s my caramel drizzle?” 

“They were out. You obviously had it all with your obsession.” Jefferson rolled his eyes and took a sip. 

“Well, I make that five o’clock. You are officially off the clock.” Alex had to refrain from fist bumping the air (he had survived!) walking out the door vibrating with energy. He headed up the stairs (faster than that fucking elevator) to marketing, down to the office marked ‘Margaret ‘Peggy’ Schuyler’, letting himself in and shaking his hair free of the messy bun. Peggy looks up, soft smile. She was pretty, Alex knew that, she had made a life separated from her father, had shaken her awkward ‘and Peggy’ phase, no longer on Eliza and Angelica’s coattails. It suited her.

“‘Lex!” She stood and hugged him, letting him go so he could loosen and take off his tie, shoving it into his bag. “You survived! Or are you a ghost? Did Jefferson murder you for having an opinion?” Alexander laughed, sitting on the edge of her desk and undoing his top button. He felt more relaxed already. 

“Pretty sure I’m still living. I’m sure Jefferson wanted to kill me all week.” 

“I sympathise with him. You do not know when to shut your mouth.” She took hold of his face, squishing his cheeks so he could only make incomprehensible nosies. “But that’s exactly what I love about you. Besides, this is the first time I’ve been called out for drinks with Eliza since forever, if I didn’t learn to like your mouth I’d have to. She still loves you, you know.” Alex sighed. 

“Yeah, I know.” Although he and Eliza had never worked out, they knew it wasn’t right, hadn’t worked, he too distant, she too close, but over the small time they were officially romantic she’d fallen for him. Alex had seen that, had tried to withdraw further, but that had only made Eliza push it more, his turned back making her more determined to change him. A recipe for disaster, if there ever was one. (Alex just couldn’t change, he had known that, but she couldn’t believe it.) It had ended in tears and Alex tilting her chin up, wiping her face, telling her he could never be what she needed, even if he was what she wanted. Eliza had shook her head, held his hands, promised she could make things better for them, would be good, would let him be away at all hours, if only he came home to her at the end of the day. It had been brutal and messy and tragic. 

“Hey, no need to look so down about it. Jeez. Look, I have to meet you there, I have to wrap this up and it’s gonna take an hour or so.” Alex jumped off the desk. 

“Go you on the office. I’d give anything to have one.” 

“Your cubicle days are numbered Alexander, I swear it.” 

Alex swept out of Peggy’s office, down the hall, jamming his finger into the elevator button to avoid the huddle of marketers blocking the stairs. He had learned that editors and marketers weren’t exactly on the greatest of terms and had no desire to be yelled at for being on the wrong floor. The doors ding open instantly, as if the elevator was waiting for him, and Alex slides in, pressing the bottom floor button twice before standing back. It slides to a stop one floor down and Alex braces for a fellow long-term assistant but finds Thomas Jefferson stepping in instead. Jefferson stops for a moment, hesitates, before stepping in with renewed purpose and pressing the already-lit button. 

“Hamilton.” 

“Jefferson.” 

“You look different.” Jefferson looked down at him and Alex had to fight not to meet his eyes. “Your hairs down.” Alex’s hand went up into his hair, twirling his finger into the spindly strands. He needed a haircut. 

“It’s the weekend. I don’t need to justify my attire to you.” Jefferson scoffed and Alex had to look now, wishing he hadn’t when he meets the bemused light in that asshole’s eye. “Besides, you always look like a walking crayon and I don’t make you justify that, do I?” The smirk only grows as the elevator hits the bottom floor, shifting slightly as the doors begin to separate. 

“A walking crayon, huh?” Alex suddenly felt silly, feels the blood rush to his face. “At least I don’t look like a tramp.” Alexander sticks out his foot before he can reason with himself, watching Jefferson’s stumble over the threshold of the elevator, the human form of elegance tripping over with no grace at all. It attracts attention, people looking and laughing behind their hand, including Angelica where she had been writing something for a woman in front of the desk. Jefferson looks back at Alex, fire in his eyes, and Alexander knows if they were alone he’d be dead and buried by now, but they weren’t. 

Alex flounced out, looking back to Jefferson with his own cocky smirk. It felt like he had won for the week (won at what he could not say) as he approached Angelica and the woman hurried to catch the elevator. 

“Did you see that?” He asks in an excited whisper, watching Jefferson storm out, the spinning doors swallowing him whole before spitting him out into the New York afternoon. Angelica nodded, giggling still at the whole display. 

“That was even better than the time I slapped him!”

“You what?” Alex leant in, smile widening into a grin as Angelica waved it away, leaning forward on her own forearms. 

“You slay, Alexander Hamilton, you bisexual mess. Where’s Peggy? Isn’t she meant to be your chauffeur?”

Yes, Alexander Hamilton didn’t have his license yet. His friends admonished him for it, laughing at him for failing his driving test for the seventh time before Alex decided driving was for the weak. No one was happy with Alex using the subway every day, reminding him most murders and kidnappings happened in the subway, but Alex waved it away before disappearing underground. He didn’t like depending on someone to ferry him around when they all had lives of their own, no matter how many times he was offered. Besides, the driving test was rigged to favour the closed-minded, which he was not. 

“She has some project to finish? I am really more than capable of taking the subway you-“ Angelica groaned, putting her head to the table, before fiddling with the car keys sat next to her pen pot. “Angie, I’ll be fine, I took it here this morning, and took it home last night. I don’t need my hand held.” 

“Alex, come on, we worry, you know that. It’s not like you can’t drive, we know you can, and the subway isn’t kind to the kind.” Alex pulled his hair over his shoulder and shook his head at Angelica.

“I’m going home to wash off Jefferson’s death glare, on the subway, if it really is the last thing I do. I’m so done with you guys treating me like a two year old prone to walking off.” Angelica didn’t dare point out Alexander was prone to walking off, from a half-finished personal project, from a relationship, a meal, a commitment, Alex was prone to walking off always. Just, not so much in the literal sense. 

“Look, at least text me when you’re home, yeah? Please Alex? I’d like to know if you’re dead in a ditch before going out for drinks.” Alex saluted her, tapping across the lobby floor into the fresh-as-possible air, feeling the sun beat down and warmth spread across his face. Alexander smiled, head tilted up, absorbing the sun. Before hurrying down the street to catch the subway before it departed without him. 

While he had been joking about washing away the glare it does feel burned to his back, the whole way home he’s checking over his shoulder just to be certain Jefferson isn’t following after to kill him. When, for the fiftieth, he is not, Alex pushed his key into the apartment door and twisted, trying to find the sweet spot, the door clicking and easing open. Home sweet home. At least, after ten flights of stairs. 

Alexander’s original apartment had been on the first floor, sandwiched between a meth lab and crime scene. He had barely had the space to spread out his arms, the bathroom was overrun with bugs, all kitchen utensils were on a wobbly shelf and Alex was pretty sure he found the remnants of cocaine in the bottom of the toaster. It was certainly... something, as his friends said, as Eliza said, as anyone who knew him said when they saw it for two seconds. A great embarrassment. Until Lafayette, Hercules and John extended an invite to the loft, an apartment on the top of a well-made building in a good neighbourhood, an airy space with plenty of room. A kitchen made of actual countertops, a clean toaster, even a washing machine that would never have been able to fit into his apartment if he wanted to sleep there, too. The size of his bedroom felt twice the size, everything was so big, so full, of life and of love. Lafayette cooked, Hercules did the washing, John scrubbed the bathroom every Sunday he got the chance. Routine swallowed Alex whole and he was often caught off guard by his gratefulness for the loft, for his friends. 

“I’m home,” he called, to no one but Lafayette’s small cat that opened one lazy eye and, deeming Alexander a not-imposter, closed it again to go back to sleep. “Oh, bonjour petit chat!” Alex dropped his bag next to the door, gliding across the floor as he toed off his stupid, scuffed work shoes. “Did you miss me?” She yowled as he scooped her into his arms, giving him the evil eye as he snuggled his face against her face. “Aw, yes you did.” Petit Chat was a stray, back when Alex first moved in, that often came to their window and meowed and scratched at the glass until Laf set out some water or food. One day, when she came back limping and looking worse for wear, Laf carried her scratching and screaming to the nearest vet and babbled in French for five whole minute about his poor Petit Chat. Before realising the poor woman had no idea what he was saying. 

Finding Petit Chat with no micro chip or sign of identification Lafayette brought her home, having begun spending a fortune on treatments and a micro chip, made Petit Chat a member of the family. She’d quietened down over time and, after Alexander found her under his bed with a litter of the most adorable kittens, Lafayette had her neutered. Living like a Queen, thanks to the Frenchman, Petit Chat had become quite domestic. 

“It’s good to see you too.” Alex cooed, bouncing her like a baby which she did not like in the slightest, growling at him in warning. Alexander dropped her promptly, not wishing to have his arm ruined, and she landed on her feet and flounced away, tail high in the air. Alex, after sticking his tongue out at her, slid over to the kitchen on old socks. 

Here’s a problem with living with Lafayette; he does not condone leftovers. Alex, after making himself some pasta, put some in the fridge in a bowl for lunch the next day, finding the bowl and pasta face down in the bin the next morning. ‘What happened to my leftovers?’ He demanded, staring at the perfectly good pasta that had faced an unfortunate end. John and Hercules looked to Lafayette, who in turn looked up from his book. ‘Uh, what is this, ‘left-overs’? You mean the pasta? Was no fresh.’ He looked back down at the book and Alexander had slammed shut the fridge, pulling the bowl from the bin and dropping it into the sink to wash later. ‘That was my pasta!’ He argued. Every other piece of left over food met the same fate and Alex learned if you wanted to keep something for a later date you had to clarify, very clearly, with Lafayette. On the other hand, it may be a blessing in disguise, as they always got something fresh and new. Still, Alex was still pretty bitter about his poor pasta (it had been good!). 

It also meant, in instances like this, looking in the fridge for something to heat and eat with minimum effort, was impossible. There was practically nothing, unless Alex wanted to walk around eating a tomato like an apple, or a whole block of cheese (inviting, but he wasn’t really in the mood) or just chug the whole bottle of milk, which would not go down well with his roommates. Alexander pulls open the cupboards, searching among spaghetti and cans of soup for something he could just shove into his face as his stomach murmured in agreement. When was the last time he ate? He certainly didn’t know. It didn’t seem there was anything- aha! Alex pushed onto tiptoes, fingers brushing the edge of the box, grasping helplessly at the highest shelf to move the box closer. Why on earth it was on the one shelf he couldn’t each when it was his was unanswerable. If Lafayette saw him with it he’d have a fit. Silently the box fell into his waiting hands. Lucky Charms. Or, if you were asking Lafayette, ‘a heart attack waiting to happen, a sugary mess with no culinary effort, disgusting marshmallow thing!’ But Lafayette wasn’t here.

Alexander pulled down a bowl, poured out the sugary contents and the milk sloshed into the bowl. Jumping up onto the kitchen island, milk sat next to him, Alex began shoving spoonfuls into his mouth like a child eating something they knew they shouldn’t be. Which was silly, of course, he was a grown man, Lafayette wasn’t in charge of his diet. Except, if you lived under this roof, it was kind of something you resigned yourself to. 

“I’m home!” John shouts and Alex listens to the rustle as John shed his jacket and pulled off his shoes. 

“Hiya!” Alexander calls back, mouth full, as John steps farther into the loft so he could see him now. Alex swallowed hard. “How was work?” 

“Ugh, boring without you. Guessing their jobs just isn’t the same.” John leant against the island next to where Alexander was sat, popping the cap off the milk and drinking it from the carton like a slob. 

“John!” Alex hit him with his wet spoon, making John snort, choking on the milk, but it has the desired effect of making him put it down. “That’s disgusting. Four people use that milk.” John shrugged, wiping away the milk moustache onto his sleeve, lounging against the counter. 

“Are those lucky charms I see?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. Alex nudged his ribs with a toe. 

“Don’t tell Laf?” 

“As long as you don’t tell him I drank from the carton,” John says with a smile, and Alex nodded as he put the spoon back into his mouth. “How was the first week at work then? Jeffershit wasn’t too hard on you, was he?” 

“Ugh, I wish,” Alex slurped the milk out he bottom of his bowl. “I’m just a coffee boy to his ego.” 

“What about that manuscript you came home squealing about?” 

“Finished it that night. He called me,” Alex mimicked the slight southern drawl (Jefferson was good at hiding it at work, often sliding out in small drops), “‘Irresponsible.’” 

“That night? Jesus Alex, don’t you have a pause button?”

“Nope. Not one I can find, anyway, but you don’t seem to mind about that,” Alex side eyed John, who snorted and shook his head. 

“You are insatiable, you know that?” 

“I’ve been told once or twice.” John smiled in that lopsided way, a question, that is answered when the door opens. 

“I’m home!” 

“Moi aussi!” Hercules and Lafayette call together, there’s the soft scuff of bags being put down and shoes being taken off. “Bonjour, mon amis! Alex, how has the week been, hm?” Lafayette hugged him, a fake nicety to pull Alexander off his beloved kitchen island. “You look happy!” Lafayette’s eyes shifted from Alex to the kitchen island. “Mon ami! No, no, the lucky charms!” Lafayette snatched up the box, looking inside before looking at Alex in exasperation. “Why lucky charms?” 

“I like them, Laf.”

“But, but they are heart attack marshmallows!” Lafayette reached up and shoved the box onto the top shelf (so that’s how they ended up there) and shook his head, ponytail shuddering. Hercules laughed, placing his hands onto his boyfriend’s shoulders to squeeze affectionately. John and Alex look at each other and pretend to barf. 

“Come on, mon amour, let Alex bring about his early grave. It’ll do all our ears some good,” Lafayette smiled and leaned against Hercules’ warmth.

“Hey! I heard that you know.” 

“Oh, here he goes again,” John added, playfully, and Alex rolled his eyes and huffed, folding his arms defensively. 

“I see where I’m not appreciated.” 

“No, Alex, wait-“ and they were all laughing, shaking their head at one another, because things were good. 

————————————

“James I don’t want to go out,” Thomas complained, snuggling deeper into his sofa as James stood there with his hands upon his hips. “Seriously, can’t we just sit around and watch some TV?”

“No, for goodness sake, you do that every weekend. I want to do something fun and I also can’t leave you here to mope, alone, in your designer sweater.” 

“Yes you can. In fact, I’m asking you to do just that.” 

“Thomas, come on, if you keep yourself cooped up in here you’ll go mad. Besides, was it not you who told me earlier you wanted to drink away Hamilton’s ‘snarky attitude’?”

“That was earlier Thomas!” 

“I am not taking no for an answer. Or I’m taking your car.” Thomas frowned. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” As a birthday gift a couple of years ago he’d received from his father a pristine and beautiful Lamborghini in midnight blue that (no exaggeration) he loved more than life. It drove beautifully and was the real thing, except safer (apparently) and a whole load of modern on the inside. The only person who got to sit in it besides himself was James, who was always in the passenger seat.

“Watch me.” James turned on his heel and headed for the front door, where Thomas’ convenient bowl of keys were sat almost waiting for him. Thomas up on his feet in a second, leaping over the coffee table and grasping the keys just as James was about to nab them. 

“Where on earth do you want to go so badly?” 

“I have a date.” James thrusted his chin into the air, waiting for Thomas to laugh and say ‘that’s impossible’, but he didn’t. He stood, mouth open. 

“You want me to third wheel your date?”

“What? No! It’s a casual thing. If you’re there I wont feel so awkward. Come on, please? You can get pissed off your face and I’ll pay for it.” Thomas swung the keys around on his finger. 

“I’m gonna hold you to that.” 

“Aaron Burr?”

“Shut up,” James murmured, stamping on foot, and Thomas had to refrain from shouting both the name and his pain. When James said date he had definitely not imagined the reserved Aaron Burr who only ever agreed on something that was unanimous. His opinion was impossible to gain which was stupid, seeing the line in which they worked, and Thomas still could not believe this was the mystery date James was all blushing and quiet about. 

“You’re not joking, right? If so, very funny, James. You know I can’t stand him!” He adds finally, gritting his teeth as Burr ran his finger across the rim of his glass, slowly, in almost soothing rings. James wasn’t listening, taking the first hesitant steps toward the table Burr was occupying. Thomas sighed, putting his hate for Burr to the side, if only for the night. He wanted his friend to be happy, of course he did, he knew he was testing and often kept James from others and he wasn’t about to squander his only friends chance at romance. 

“What time is it!” A familiar voice shouts from the door, attracting some attention, a handful of smiles. Thomas turns to the door, cranes to see who’s making all this ruckus. 

“Showtime!” Came a returning chorus, a mesh of voices, men and women, and finally the crowd shifted just right for Thomas to see. His stomach plummeted. Not here, of all places, not now, not when he had the promise of free drinks all evening as long as he stayed. But, there he was, flicking his hair and grinning. 

Fucking Alexander Hamilton. 

A small part of Thomas’ mind noted how hot Hamilton looked, under the flashing lights, smiling like that surrounded by his friends. Having his hair down made him seem a different person all together, but that did not stop Thomas’ disgust at himself for the thought. James stopped, noticing Thomas’ absence, looking too at where Hamilton was flouncing about, Elizabeth on one arm, John Laurens muttering into his ear. Smiling like Thomas had never seen him smile. 

For one moment their eyes meet from across the room. Hamilton visibly stiffness and Thomas responds with a quirked eyebrow and smirk, watching Hamilton go red and pull away from John Laurens and Elizabeth, shame written on his face. Thomas doesn’t mean to have this effect - it’s a Friday night, Hamilton is young, he was allowed to do what he want. John Laurens was frowning, looking for where Hamilton had locked onto. Tension is thick, then a person walks in the way of the intense stare and Thomas looks away, dragging James toward Burr. 

“What’s Hamilton doing here?” He hissed at himself. Of all the clubs, of all the places, in New York City they just had to end up in the same one. Attraction and hatred battled in his head. James looked back, no doubt meeting Hamilton’s horrified eyes, before looking searchingly up at Thomas.

“He looks nice,” James prompts, knowing his friend too well. Thomas groaned, stopping, not wanting the waiting and watching Burr to overhear the things he needed to say in confidence. 

“Doesn’t he just? That’s not the arrogant prick I dismissed this afternoon. If he wasn’t, well him, I’d go and just-“ Thomas clenched his fists, struggling now. Ever since Martha intimacy, romance, had not been his strong suit (or any suit, really, he hadn’t been on a date since). 

“Wow, slow down. You can go if you really want, Thomas,” sympathy had consumed James’ eyes. “I’m not gonna make you stay. I’m sure I’ll... I’ll be fine.” But that hesitation and repetition gave away the nerves in James. Thomas was here for moral support and he couldn’t forget that. 

“No, no, it’s fine. He can stay over there and we’ll stay here. Seriously, it’ll be fine,” and James looked relieved, despite the sceptical twist of his lips. Then they were at Burr’s table, Thomas’ pushing hand on the small of James’ back receiving a raised eyebrow from the already seated. Burr stood. 

“James, Mr. Jefferson.” Goodness. He wasn’t going to make it through ten minutes with this bastard. 

“Please,” he said, trying to sound calm, “Call me Thomas.” Except the look in his eyes said don’t you dare. James beamed, looking upon them like a proud parent that had made his arguing children make up. Burr motioned to the seats, sitting on one side and James sat on the other. It was not a hard choice to choose sitting next to James, where he could look across the rest of the room with ease. 

Talking had begun but Thomas couldn’t care less, because he’d found Hamilton amongst the crowd. He was downing a shot, the friends surrounding him cheering as Hamilton grinned, looking so at ease again. The small glass slammed down next to a line of identical ones onto the bar, and Hamilton turned with his arms wide open and Thomas could only imagine his grin. Had Hamilton had all of them? He almost couldn’t believe it. Almost. He didn’t know Hamilton well enough to think this irregular or out of the ordinary. Angelica (goodness, she was here too?) wrapped her arms around his middle and laughed against his shoulder, making him turn his head and kiss her forehead so affectionately, so sweetly. Heat prickled against Thomas’ skin as something intense and primal reared its head. 

“What do you think, Thomas?” Thomas had not been listening and James knew that but Burr, evidently, did not. 

“Why are you discussing work on a date?” Is what he responds with, knowing not only his friend but Burr too well. James flushed and kicked Thomas under the table as Burr struggled to form a sentence. “Whatever floats your boat,” and he cast his attention away from the stretching moment.   
Hamilton has a beer bottle now, watching Lafayette wince as he swallowed his own shot, another man laughing and placing his hands onto the Frenchman’s shoulders. Only the one, Thomas noted, as Lafayette gagged and stuck out his tongue, shaking his head, recoiling from the bar. The man continued laughing, squeezing Lafayette’s shoulders tightening as he dipped his head and Laf rose his for a kiss. The couple are surrounded by jeers and the mimicking of the sweet moment but when they pull away it is obvious the world is dulled out, that the only thing that matters is each other. Thomas remembers that. Walking Martha to class, kissing her at the door, not another person in the world expect her, there, heading into English. 

His lower lip trembles, slightly, and he bites it to keep it in place as the green of Hamilton’s moving coat caught his eye. Hand in John Laurens, pulling him toward the bathroom, both of them laughing, at the very least smiling, drunken, disappearing behind the gents door where Thomas had seen no one go the whole time he had been there. Except, suddenly, he felt the need to go. 

“If you’d excuse me.” He rose, not waiting for a response (James and Burr seemed too caught up to notice his leave) as he headed over to the bathroom. What was he expecting? To catch Hamilton in the act (ew) or perhaps he did need to go to the bathroom and the fact he had saw Hamilton was messing him up. 

Either way, when he eased the squeaky door open there was a gasp then silence besides a badly muffled giggling. His skin crawled, unable to shake the feeling, knowing Hamilton (fucking Hamilton) was in the only locked stall with John Laurens. Thomas wanted to say something, to show Hamilton who it was, but instead moved as quietly as he could toward the urinal. Feeling suddenly bad for interrupting whatever exactly was going on in the dirty bathroom (obviously Hamilton had no standards) and wanted to leave already but his bladder, having seen the urinal, was not to be ignored. Until, of course, a breathy moan followed by a long ‘shhhhhhh’. Suddenly Thomas’ bladder feels like a lot less of a pressing matter than it is. 

“Hello?” He asks, sounding confused although he knew exactly who was in there, with who, doing something they should not be doing in a bathroom stall. 

“Shit!” That was obviously Hamilton, but he couldn’t tell if it was in response to what was going on in the stall or Thomas’ voice. There was murmuring. Thomas really was not comfortable taking a leak in the same room as those two. “...because he’s my fucking boss!” Thomas caught, approaching the sink, as if he could wash this off with cheap soap and icy water. More shushing. A whimper. From which one is still unclear but Thomas does not need to know if Hamilton is a top or bottom, as much as he had his ideas, because that was not what he wanted right now. “Shit, no, I need you as a friend,” it seemed Hamilton couldn’t stop talking. 

The door slid open a fraction and John Laurens stepped out, checking his hair in the mirror, buttoning the top of his shirt. 

“Hello.” He says curtly, obviously not in the mood for conversation. Thomas bites back a remark on being sour because he wasn’t getting laid. Oh, he wants to, definitely, but that’s when Hamilton steps out, looking considerably more disheveled, his shirt undone to reveal something that glinted gold, and their eyes meet in the mirror. 

“Hello Hamilton.” Thomas said in a tone that sounded like ‘I know exactly what is going on here’ and he watches Hamilton flush and cast his eyes away first. John darted a last glance at Hamilton and Thomas watches the shorter man mouth ‘go’ in an urgent manner, the door squeaking as John departs. 

“Jefferson.” 

“Having fun in there?” 

“Shut up. You’re the one that’s here with Burr.” Yes, that was considerably worse, Thomas agreed in his head. 

“At least I haven’t sunk as low to whatever that was in a bathroom.” Hamilton huffed, leaning in to the mirror, his lips slightly more swollen than Thomas knew them to be. He jerks to looking back down at his hands. He should not be looking at Hamilton’s lips, that was... was... gross?   
“You’d sink that low if you got to sleep with me.” Hamilton’s hair flicked over his shoulder as he looked at Thomas, a soft smirk on his young face. A drink seemed to give Hamilton more confidence. The forced scoff comes too late and Hamilton raises an eyebrow, takes a step closer. “Go on, admit it Jefferson.” 

“As if.” His voice betrayed him. Hamilton laughed, the tension snapping, and he put his hands under the tap. 

“Have a lovely evening, Jefferson.” He winked, swung the door open and disappeared into the darkness. Thomas shook his hands in an attempt to dry them, following after Hamilton, acting on impulse instead of clear thought. He grasped the delicate wrist, squeezed, whipped Hamilton close to him to capture the other wrist into one hand, making their eyes meet. 

“It seems it’s you wanting me, Hamilton, or should I say cock tease.” Hamilton flushed brightly, like a red light that had never looked more green. Thomas released him. “I hope you learn to conduct yourself properly by Monday.” Hamilton looked up at him, pupils blown in his lust and Thomas found himself repulsed at his lack of repulsion. 

“Yes, sir.” That pool of suspicious arousal grows bigger but Thomas is the first to walk away, back to the table and James’ and Burr’s vanilla conversation. He spared only one glance back at Hamilton and knew he was well and truly fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the great feedback! I’m glad you’re enjoying this as much as I am :)
> 
> Moi aussi - me also (French)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter is kind of all over the place? Please bare with me.

Alex was no longer in a drinking mood. 

While his friends called him a spoil-sport he was looking over at where Jefferson and Burr and Madison were all sat as if they were in some business meeting. Which proved how they had no right to be here in the first place. Alexander had every intention to storm over there and punch Jefferson in his stupid, beautiful face and tell him never to do that again. Except that coil in his stomach, a mix of anxiety and want, was telling him it would be better to get drunk blind and fall into John’s arms, into routine. He liked routine. Didn’t he? Peggy nudged a cocktail into his hand and he drinks it. Everyone is laughing but he cannot being himself to. What on earth was this? He hated Jefferson. 

Yet, he liked his teasing, liked his smile.

‘Hate and attraction don’t always correlate,’ a low voice that sounded suspiciously like Jefferson told him from the back of his mind. ‘You can hate a man you want to bury deep inside you, until you’re gasping and the feeling is on the edge of pain, you can hate a man and still want to choke on his-‘ Alexander shook his head to banish the thought. John slid a hand around his waist, a friendly, peace-making gesture, that Alex leans into. 

It didn’t matter what was happening with Jefferson. He had enough right here. Didn’t he? 

Alex stretched, arching his stomach deeper into John’s bed, naked as anything beneath the duvet as John softly snored on. Goodness, when had this happened again? He winced as his muscles protested, head hammering with his hangover, feeling quite close to throwing up in John’s bed. When the moment passed, however, he nuzzled into John’s side, into his warmth, rousing John enough for him to put an arm around him. 

“We need to talk.” John mumbled, having not even opened his eyes. Alex stiffened, dread curling up next to his nausea. They didn’t often talk after the act, they returned to being how they were before, the friends part of friends with benefits, Alexander rushing over to his room before Lafayette and Hercules emerged from theirs. So to say this scared him felt pretty damn reasonable. (Let alone the fact it’s exactly what John said when they broke up.)

“Yeah?” His voice betrayed his emotion. 

“Who exactly is Thomas?” That wasn’t what Alex was expecting. 

“What?” 

“Who exactly is Thomas? I feel I have the right to know when you moan another guy’s name.” John’s face was clear, not seeming all that bothered, but Alex felt the colour drain from his face. No, NO, John was messing with him. This was some sort of sick, twisted joke. John liked to joke, he was normally quite funny. 

“Ha ha, John, very funny.” John looked down at him now, registered his expression, hesitated. Should he continue to say the truth or pretend it was a joke, like Alex seemed desperate for it to be? John wasn’t mad about it (per se), their arrangement wasn’t exactly a relationship and what Alex did was his business, still, it had wounded him a little when Alex had whimpered ‘Thomas...’ into his ear. As the sober man (at least less drunk than Alex) the whole thing was still real and vivid in his head. The thrust, the swivel of hips, bowing his head to Alexander’s shoulder as he bruised the prostate he knew well, then stopping. The foreign name in his ear. Feeling like an intruder on a moment that was his as much as Alex’s. 

“Alex...” he hesitates, again. Alex was his best friend, he’d want to know the truth, wouldn’t he?

“You know the only Thomas I know is Thomas bloody Jefferson. This isn’t funny, John.” Alex stood, pulling on his trousers without underwear to head back to his own room. John now understands Alex’s reaction - of course he’d hate the thought of saying Jefferson’s name in bed. 

“Alex, I don’t know what going on between you and Jefferson, but I’m not being funny.” Alex turned to him, eyes searching, sniffing for a give, proof it’s a lie and - finding none - he sits heavily back onto the bed and puts his head into his hands, shaking his head. “Alex?” 

“No. No. Why would you tell me? How am I supposed to go to work on Monday? It was bad enough seeing him last night-“ 

“‘Lex...” 

“-then he does this thing and my stomach just turns into butterflies but I can ignore that, you know? I...” his back curved downward, head drooping further and John sat up, resisting his hand against the jutting notches. “Oh, god, it didn’t upset you did it? It couldn’t have been nice to hear another guys name.” Alex looked over his shoulder where John was sat, watching him shrug vaguely. Like he didn’t care, which just made this all worse. 

“Not something I was ecstatic about.” Alex groaned. 

“This is so dumb.” 

“I’m sure you’ll be over it by the end of the week, ‘Lex.” John squeezed his shoulder and it’s comforting until it’s gone and John is pulling on his clothes, sniff-checking the mess on the floor. Alexander, under normal circumstances, would have taken his leave right now but he couldn’t. 

“I’m sorry. That.... that happened.”

“Don’t sweat it. We aren’t exactly exclusive.” Alex’s gut twisted at the thought John was having sex with other people, that Alex wasn’t enough. Sure, he knew John would find someone eventually, knew they didn’t work, but this was important to him. John cleared his throat, in an awkward manner. “Actually, Alex, if you aren’t going there’s something else I need to tell you.” Alexander really could not handle what was coming his way but, still, he raised his head and an eyebrow at John’s sheepish stance. 

“John?” 

“I was, ahem, planning on, I dunno, asking Eliza out? Like, on a date?” It takes a long moment for the news to settle in. 

“You’re what?” 

“It, it just, I think she might like me and you know I’ve always thought she was really nice...”

“That doesn’t mean you have to date her!” 

“Alex, this doesn’t really need your approval.” John said, eyes hardening, and Alex’s heart dropped into his feet. 

“You’re giving me up,” his voice sounded disbelieving but he had known this was coming one day, that John would find someone sweet and little that he could live forever and ever with. 

“No. No, not yet, Alex. I don’t know what to do and I don’t want to end things. But, if things go well, then yeah. I’m sorry man, but-“ 

“It’s fine.” Alex said, voice stiff as he moves toward the door. 

“Why don’t you just admit you don’t want me to go? Would that be so hard, Alexander?” Alex looked down at the floor, hand hesitating about the door handle, considering telling John, begging John. He craved their intimacy, their mingled breath, even if it was something that ended so quickly, this was good for him as much as everyone would say otherwise. Good for him to feel like he could do something more than drive himself into an early grave. 

“Ask her out, John.” He sighed, twisting the handle. “She’ll say yes.” He left, shutting the door behind him before heading across the hall into his own room. Feeling lost, empty, as if he had ripped out a vital organ. “This is good,” he told the mirror, checking his neck where a large hickey took over his shoulder. (Why John marked him when he was leaving him for Eliza was unknown.) “He’ll be happy with her and she with him.” He reasoned, pulling on a top and hunting for a clean pair of underwear. “Who am I to stay in the middle of them?” 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen this coming. Even back when, when he hadn’t dated either of them yet, he could see their polite chemistry, the way they brushed against one another and joked. He’d gotten in the way of that, he knew. Sweeping Eliza off her feet, making things sparkle so she’d step away from John into his arms because he was so sure she was what he wanted. What he needed. Then, when everything crashed and burned, he’d fled to John and that had gone a whole lot better than being with Eliza. Except, at the end of the day, he knew no one was gonna stick with him. John and Eliza were made for each other. Rick families, bubbly personalities, good listeners and advice givers. They slotted like puzzle pieces. Alex shrugged away the loneliness making his chest cold, after all, he always had Hercules and Lafayette, right? 

Alexander stepped out his room, heading for the kitchen when he stops. 

Hercules, down on one knee, box in his hand. Lafayette’s hands at his mouth, tears running down them and his cheeks. “Oui!” He was saying. Over and over, nodding his head into the hands. “Oui!” Then they were embracing, there, in the kitchen and suddenly it felt like Alex was floating. Alone on a raft that was sinking, his friends watching from the shore, waving at him, waving him goodbye. His stomach twists dramatically, almost comically. 

No, no, no. 

“Alexander! Mon ami, oh look,” and Lafayette, pressed against Hercules’ chest, extended the hand with the simple ring on it. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening, they couldn’t be leaving him behind like this. Why did they keep moving forward? Alex felt like he hadn’t changed since moving from Nevis. 

“Wow! Congratulations,” John gushed, pulling on a top as he headed toward the kitchen, smiling, looking so happy. No, no, no. “Actually, I have some news. I just got off the phone with ‘Liza and me and her are going on a date. Tonight.” Lafayette smiled, Hercules congratulated, Alexander stood rooted to the spot. No, no, no, they were leaving him behind. Waving from the shore. Pulling their lives together, right before his eyes. 

“Alex? Is this not good?” Lafayette was smiling and suddenly Alex felt like such a dick for being so self-absorbed as his friend was proposed to. As his best friend got the date with a girl he obviously felt strongly for. 

“Guys, this is insane!” He responded, grin spread too wide and too thin. “This is all such great news! Goodness, when’s the wedding?” Hercules and Lafayette looked at one another, eyes so full of adoration. 

“Spring, I think,” Lafayette said softly and Hercules nodded. Hand wrapping around his fiancé’s waist. John had done that for Alex last night and he’d taken it for granted.

“As long as I’m with you I’d marry anytime.” Everyone was smiling. Everything was falling into place. 

“Well, I was actually heading out, yeah? But I’ll see you guys later. This is so great! Congrats, all of you,” and when Alex set foot out the door he sighed, his chest stuttered, wanting to sob and cry and scream as things spun out of control. Why did everyone he knew get a fairytale while he was reduced to moaning Jefferson’s fucking name? This sucked. Not because he wasn’t happy for them, genuinely, he was, he wouldn’t wish them unhappiness ever. He just wished it wouldn’t be so blatantly obvious how damn lonely he was. Who exactly was he supposed to fall in love with? Fucking Jefferson? He’d rather join a dodgy cult than date him, his boss, despite... last night....

No. Not going down that road. 

Now what was he supposed to do? 

Alexander Hamilton had never planned to cross the office threshold on a weekend, when no one of importance was in, the front desk was unmanned and he had nothing to do. But, frankly, he would rather be here than in the loft where all his friends were getting their shit together and planning perfect futures. So, he takes the stairs to avoid being alone with his thoughts, jogging up them, then back down and back up a couple of times until he was out of breath and ready to give in. Mind numbing around the edges as he wheezes in his state of unfitness. It was then that he continued upward, up to the editor floor and into Jefferson’s unlocked office. Warmth hits him instantly, and it’s like the bastard is there. 

All he has to do is close his eyes. 

Jefferson, behind his desk, not looking up as Alex let himself in, commenting on his lack of manners with a wry smirk. Alex asking for a manuscript, pleading for something to do and Jefferson’s waving him away, calling him a kid and a little bastard. Standing right here, huffing, arms folded, waiting for Jefferson to snap and give him something. Or sitting on the sofa, thunder raging outside, watching Jefferson focus hard on the work underneath his hand. Those dark eyes watching him, so expressive, yet so hard to read. 

Alex opens his eyes and the room is still empty. 

The pile of manuscripts calls him closer, so he goes, slowly, reaching out and picking the first one up. Shit. It was the same one Jefferson had him working on Tuesday, still laying there waiting to be viewed by Jeffersons’s prying eyes. Except, wait, there was one lonely change. ‘Day’ had been crossed out in the same red ink, neat blocky writing replacing it with ‘Time’. So Jefferson had had a look, enough to see Alex was capable. Alex’s fingers clench tighter around the paper to squash away the happiness that Jefferson had agreed with him, throwing the manuscript at the wall. 

He shouts after it and it feels good. The manuscript comes apart, the paper drifting to the floor peacefully after the resounding ‘bang’ as it hit the wall. Regret courses through Alexander’s veins instantly, dropping to his knees and scrambling to gather the papers. Why weren’t these damn things numbered? Who didn’t number their manuscript? 

Hands shaking, eyes watering, he’s glad Thomas isn’t there to see him make such an idiot of himself. He hopes the asshole feels the bad, but, at the same time, he hopes Jefferson is happy. 

————————————

Thomas woke, dressed, went for a run. Like every morning, but it didn’t feel like every morning. It felt like something new. Every fresh breath was delicate, beautiful, felt like he was breathing for the first time over and over and over again. His muscles sung with the sting, sweat against his forehead and, as he wiped it away at home, downing an icy glass of water, he felt more alive than he had in years. He showered under warm water, stayed in there longer than necessary, head turned up toward the water, until it went cold. Letting it wash away any remnants of sweat. Stepping out into the cool, dripping, wrapping a towel around his waist and humming, swinging his hips to a song his soul hadn’t sang in such a long time. Breakfast of toast, crunching it between his strong teeth as he watched the TV, getting crumbs all over his expensive couch but not caring in the slightest. Scrubbing at his teeth, checking them over in the mirror, feeling a spring in the step as he bounced down the steps of his front porch, swinging his car keys on his finger. 

Not anything to do with what Hamilton was doing to his insides, what, of course not, that was inconceivable! He simply felt... refreshed. 

“Thomas? It’s not even eight o’clock.” Thomas let himself into James’ penthouse apartment, dropping his keys onto the sideboard and prowling into the kitchen, opening the fridge. “Thomas,” James was side eyeing down the hall where his bedroom was, looking nervous now, voice unusually low. Thomas picked an apple out, chucking it into the air before catching it with ease. “You know, it’s nice to wait to be invited in.” 

“Oh, James, don’t be like that. What else are you going to do if not sit and watch crap telly with me?” Again, the side eyeing, the fidgeting as Thomas ran a tongue over his teeth, stopping at his canine for a moment before chomping into the apple. “James? You okay?” Normally James would make a comment about Thomas bursting in then just give in to it and throw the remote at him, but today was different. James almost seemed... worried? Guilty, even. 

“Yeah, of course. Just feeling a little under the weather,” he fake coughed into his hand, watching Thomas’ eyebrows go up first in concern then in disbelief. 

“First of all, I know how you sound when you cough and THAT - whatever that was - is definitely not it. Second, you never cough into your hand away. You’re unearthly hygienic. What’s going on?” James stood there, hands tight behind his back, when a Burr in only his underwear emerges, rubbing his eye and yawning. 

“Hey James I-“ he begins, in that ‘we fucked last night and now I want breakfast’ tone. 

“Ahh!” Thomas screamed, covering his eyes (he did not need that view ever in his life thank you very much) which snaps Burr awake. “You slept with him!” He says, in the direction James was, not daring to remove his hands from his face. “I didn’t even know you went home together!” 

“Thomas, lower your voice for goodness sake.” James sounded impatient and Thomas let his hands move away from holding his eyes, finding Burr absent and feeling quite relieved. even though James looks as though he might string Thomas up by his underwear. “It doesn’t matter to you what I do, I am an adult you know, and you never told me what you were doing here. Perhaps if you’d stayed at the door we would not be in this position rights now.” 

“You’re my best friend!” 

“You’re only friend,” James corrects. 

“Which makes you the best,” Thomas insists. “Besides, Burr, really?” James’ stance shifted from open to defensive. So, that was the wrong thing to say. 

“Thomas, I’d like you to leave.” 

“Excuse me?” James hadn’t ever kicked him out before, he was too kind, too understanding, to throw Thomas out. 

“You heard me.” Thomas gaped in disbelief. 

“You aren’t serious, James.” Perhaps it was a plea, he didn’t know, he wasn’t used to this begging business. 

“You cannot invite yourself into my home and be so rude about who I spend time with. I would like you to leave.” 

“James, come on, you know what I-“ 

“He said leave, Thomas,” Burr was leant against the arch leading down the hall, considerably more dressed, watching the whole dispute. “It’d do you good to do just that.” Thomas stuck his chin into the air. He was not allowing Burr, bloody Burr, boss him around. 

“Aaron, I can handle this.” There was a tense moment between them and Thomas cannot help thinking ‘trouble in paradise already’. “But he’s right,” James agrees, folding his arms. “Thomas.” 

“James-“ 

“Go.” 

Thomas stood outside the slammed door, skin crawling. Now James had Burr, Thomas would always be the third wheel to their pairing. It made him feel uncomfortable and stupid for pushing James to kicking him out. What if James didn’t want to talk to him ever again? Now he had Burr? 

Nausea fills Thomas’ stomach. 

James hadn’t been wrong about being his only friend (if Hamilton didn’t count, though he was pretty sure normal friends didn’t call each other a ‘cock tease’) and if Thomas kept being, well, himself, would he lose James forever? They’d known each other since high school when Thomas had had braces and James was a waddler - he couldn’t imagine life without the idiot. Maybe giving him some space, like he’d asked, would be good. He could watch crap telly on his own and pretend he wasn’t a lonely saddo with nothing to do on a Saturday. 

He bet Hamilton was out having the time of his life, being young. Drinking (despite it being eight thirty in the morning), waking up with a hangover, flirting with a stranger, being, well, young. Thomas’ heart sinks at the thought of Alexander out there, doing these things, being these things, but he dismisses the feelings. He didn’t care what Hamilton did. 

And even if he did, he wasn’t allowed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a pretty stressful day and spent literally hours trying to edit this chapter and make it a little longer. (I swear I’m deceased by now.) But hopefully its as good as the last? I’m really bad at writing slow burn...   
> Also what’s going to happen from now on is gonna be weird but please bare with because while there are only ten chapters to this book (I’m writing the end rn) I’m planning on making a sequel called ‘Loathing’ if everyone is down? Which means things are gonna seem a bit janky to get everything just right?   
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed and are staying happy and safe :) feedback always welcome


	7. Chapter 7

Police sirens whizz past Alex on the way to the office and it doesn’t seem important until he sees them gathered in the car park, the officers in the lobby. His neck prickles with growing fear as he pushes the spinning door, allowing himself in and making every officer look up in unison before getting back to it. It seemed unreal, like something pulled out a book. Alex’s grip on his satchel tightens as he sees a handsome officer interrogating Angelica, who was shaking her head and persisting something. They share a panicked look before she goes back to being insistent (like always). Eyes followed him all the way to the elevator where Jefferson is waiting and he’s just a little glad to see a friendly face. (Or, not so friendly face, really.)

“What’s going on?” He asks nervously, looking around and catching a handful of officers staring before looking away. His hand starts shaking and he balls it into a fist, almost glad for a distraction from Jefferson and the shit show that is his... feelings (ew).

“Someone broke in.” Alex’s stomach plummets, heart filling his throat. He hadn’t broke in, he had every right to be here, but it still suddenly felt like he was the criminal here. Jefferson glanced at him. “Could you look anymore guilty?” Alexander looked up as the elevator opened. 

“Bite me.” He hissed, stepping in next to Jefferson and they both turned to face the closing doors and staring officers. “Do they know who did it yet?” 

“No. Washington’s going to be in a mood about this for bloody weeks.” Jefferson murmured with a soft groan, as if this merely inconvenienced him. Obviously unaware of Alexander’s pounding heart. 

“You don’t seem awfully shocked. Or like you care at all,” Alex notes to distract from his own guilt building up in his chest. “Perhaps it was you.” Jefferson laughed as if this was the craziest thing he’d ever heard. 

“Very funny, Hamilton. What would I benefit from this?” 

“Recognition.” Jefferson growled, glaring at Alex, both of them knowing what he was implying with that one word. A pink settled onto Alex’s tanned cheeks as the doors opened and they stepped out, the growl resounding in his head. Goodness, that had been a bit too hot than was good for him. Officers milled about, talking to anyone who stopped, muttering to each other and jamming their thumb in the direction of Alexander and Jefferson making Alex feel more guilty. Why was everyone staring in their direction?

“Do you know if they’ve been in your office?” Alex asks as Jefferson pushes down the handle. “The robbers?” 

“About to find out together, aren’t we?” Jefferson snarked, throwing open the door to face the damage. Nothing was missing but the room was a mess. Books had been thrown from the shelves, the desk drawers left hanging open, a shattered photo frame sat on the floor surrounded in glass. Jefferson stiffened, eyes sweeping over the damage, before he steps in and Alex takes that as meaning he can, too. Without a backward glance to the rest of the damage Jefferson drops his bag and falls to the picture on his knees, not caring for the glass, sliding the paper out and holding it in a shaky hand, other hand clenching into a fist. Alex didn’t get a good look at the picture when an officer appears at the door, obviously not aware of the tense atmosphere dominating the room.

Jefferson stands shakily, photo still in his hand. 

“Are one of you a Mr. Alexander Hamilton?” Jefferson jerked his head in Alexander’s direction. 

“My assistant,” he said, sounding much cooler than Alex knew he felt - something about that picture was special to him. Something within him celebrated at Jefferson being so acutely possessive (MY assistant) but another part of him wants to throw Jefferson out the window for treating him like someone who couldn’t speak for themselves. The officer stepped in, cool and collected, Alexander would find him cute if his heart wasn’t pounding in his chest like it wanted to escape. 

“Can we clarify this is you?” He approaches them both, creating a small huddle in the middle of the room, heads over the tablet. Alex nods as he watches himself, Saturday morning, running up and down the stairs, looking a whole lot more stupid than he thought he had. Stopping, catching his breath on a middle step. God, he was so unfit it was embarrassing. (Especially stood next to Mr. Greek God.)

“Yes. That’s me.” 

“And here?” Alexander watches the manuscript his the wall in slow, laggy motion, the burst of paper following, Alex falling to his knees almost instantly (it hadn’t felt that way at the time), hurrying to grasp the papers. Crying. He didn’t remember crying so helplessly, when he gave up, manuscript pages muddled, knowing he’d be alone for the rest of his life. His eyes flick up to the corner that he’d the camera and wish he’d seen it sooner. Alex swallows thickly as he meets Jefferson’s eyes over the bright screen. 

“Yeah. That’s me, too.” 

Jefferson scoffs, walking over to his desk, slamming a drawer closed. The officer doesn’t jump like Alex does, only straightens and looks quite severe all of a sudden, shifting his hip. Handcuffs and gun on full display. A show of dominance that Alex doesn’t understand. 

“I need you to come with me.” 

“Huh? Why?” Alex says, frowning, when suddenly Jefferson is at his side. 

“He will be doing no such thing. Hamilton come with me.” Jefferson grasps Alex tightly by the arm, dragging him toward where Washington is talking to a police officer, Alex stumbling at his side. Part of him liked being manhandled (his skin sparked with electricity where Jefferson’s thumb pressed soothing circles into his wrist), the other part wonders why Jefferson is suddenly being protective. “Mr. Washington, sir,” Washington looked from Alex to Jefferson and waved the officer away. “What’s missing? None of the expensive equipment is missing as far as I can see.” 

“They took the papers. The deed to this building, the rights to the company, all of it. They were looking for them too.” Jefferson nodded jerkily as Alex stood there feeling like a rag doll with an aggressive owner. Those soothing circles dulling him into keeping his mouth shut, submissive. “Um, Mr. Hamilton? Are you alright there?” Jefferson shook him a little, breaking him out of whatever trance he had been in, to look up at them both. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. 

“They’re trying to accuse him.” Washington frowned, then laughed, long and low, making people turn and crane their necks to see. (It wasn’t often Washington laughed so sincerely, especially in crisis.)

“Really? That’s silly. He hasn’t been here long enough to infiltrate, I’ve never met him before this week, frankly there’s a lot wrong with that theory.” 

“They have security footage of him on the morning of what I assume was the break-in day?” Jefferson prompts.

“Ah, yes. That’s a little odd.” He looks down on Alex as if he’s considering his guilt and Alex’s heart tries to rip out his chest. “But there’s no need for worry. They’re finger-printing everything. Both of you will have to go home.” Relief eases into his chest, heart slowly marginally. Alex watches the picture - a woman, he could now see - slowly crumple inward. Was that Martha? The woman from Jefferson’s college, the dead girlfriend?

“For how long?”

“Only the week. You’ll have to continue working of course, take your manuscripts and such but,” he turns to Alex now, still looking gentle and unworried, “Mr. Hamilton don’t worry, innocence prevails.” Alex sighed with a happy smile when Jefferson continues dragging him back to the office where no officer stood anymore. 

“You get the manuscripts.” Jefferson ordered as he began rooting around the mess, looking for something as Alex hauled the pile into his arms, satchel slipping down along his back. The wannabe-books sliding about in his hands, a balancing act that was nearly impossible. All feels of gooeyness go away as Jefferson doesn’t offer to help.

Back to being a servant, then. 

“What on earth are you looking for?” Jefferson re-emerged from under the desk with a laptop bag in hand. “Why on earth do you have a bloody laptop when you have a huge ass computer?” It was a good question - Jefferson’s computer was modern and thin, a much nicer model than Alex’s (that looked pulled out an old sitcom). Having a laptop too was overkill. 

“Preference.” Jefferson said, slinging the strap over his neck, glancing over at where Alexander is struggling. “Aw, poor baby,” he tapped Alex on the head, which only makes holding the manuscripts harder as the smaller recoils from the extended touch. “Come on,” Alex craned his neck around the manuscripts, following on shaky feet, barely able to see Jefferson around the pile. 

“Where are we going?” He asks as they step into the elevator, shifting his arms as they develop pins and needles. 

“My place.” So simple, as if Alex went around there all the time to watch the game (or whatever straight people did...). 

“What?” Alex spluttered. “I am not going to your rich boy house!” Jefferson sighed like he was explaining maths to a three year old. 

“We still have work to do, Hamilton. Seeing as our office, the place of work, is under investigation we need a new home base.” Jefferson looked down and Alex felt heat rise to his face, anger flooding his senses. 

“I don’t see why you need a coffee boy in your own home.” He points out, in a hopeless attempt to get out of a weeks work (Angelica would, but he guessed she was different) but watches Jefferson’s jaw unclench. 

“Perhaps I enjoy his company.” Alex looked up, mouth hanging open, to find Jefferson’s staring coldly at the doors, waiting for them to open again. Alex swallowed, looked back down, mulled over what had been said as his heart fluttered dangerously. Why was being nice so dangerous? “Besides, I can’t go through all those alone.” Alex almost jumps at the hint that he’d get to work more, prove himself to Jefferson, then recoils at the thought of needing to prove anything. Especially to Jefferson. Who was being suspiciously nice. 

The doors dinged and slid open, Jefferson sweeping out with ease, practically dancing through the hall where there is considerably less people. Human form of elegance, not weighed down by stupid maybe-books. Alex mouths desperately at Angelica where she’s packing things up ‘help’, stumbling over his own feet to keep the papers upright. Following after Jefferson’s long legs was hard enough with his arms free, now it just felt like humiliating torture. Angelica pulled a face that read how obviously she could not help in the matter as Jefferson pauses, opening a side door and holding it open for Alexander to trip over, stack of papers wobbling dangerously. 

“Where are we going?” 

“My car.”

“Your what?” 

“Hamilton shush, for goodness sake.” Jefferson took out a set of keys, clicking an unlock button making a fancy car flash to life a couple of paces from where they were walking. “You can keep those on your lap, yes?” The driver side door pops open, Jefferson about to duck in as Alex struggled endlessly with the opposite door, shifting and flinching helplessly. “For goodness sake,” he mumbled again, moving around the car and opening the door for Alex who ducked in instantly, manuscripts falling onto his lap in a messy pile. It would be a whole lot more chivalrous action if Jefferson isn’t huffing the whole time. 

“This is nice,” Alex says, trying for conversation as the silence grows unbearable. 

“Don’t touch anything,” Jefferson barked, looking over his seat as they backed out of the parking space. Just to be annoying Alex reaches out as best as he can and runs his fingers over the smooth dashboard. “Hamilton.” Tone warning, fingers tightening on the wheel and Alex decided testing when Jefferson was driving was like begging to be murdered. He’s sure Jefferson would be happy to have an ‘accident’ if he was present. 

“Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist Jesus.” Jefferson gave him a scowl, full on, lips a line. “Watch the road!” Alex cries, trying to look over the papers to check they aren’t about to get murdered by a lorry. Jefferson laughed, flexing his fingers on the wheel and oh shit why is that so sexy? Driving had always been such a pain in the ass for Alex he had never considered it could look like that. He dismisses the thought instantly, he doesn’t find Jefferson sexy, of course he didn’t. That would be... just, stupid. ‘But’, a little voice says with a smirk, ‘you did moan his name when having sex with John.’ 

Alex chokes on his own spit. 

He’d forgotten all about that in the chaos of work and suddenly wished he could melt into the leather seat and never leave it. Why had his drunken mind thought it good to do that, of all things? Couldn’t he have done something else that was equally embarrassing? He still couldn’t quite believe it but knew John wouldn’t joke about this especially after Alex’s reaction. With a sideways glance to check Jefferson had not read his mind at a very convenient moment and finding only the cold stare of focus relaxed a little. Sure, it was embarrassing as anything, something he wished never to relive or tell another soul, but he couldn’t very well take it back. He wished he could. Goodness, that would fix a lot. How could he have done that? What part of his mind really thought it acceptable? 

Jefferson made a content sound and Alex looked out his window at the neat building, a tall and wide one with an overhanging porch of fabric Alex thought only shops got to use. Everything was proper, including the small parking lot they had pulled into, cars around Jefferson’s in the same state of cleanliness. It was obviously a set of apartments made to be a home away from home for the snobby and rich (both of which Jefferson was). A balding, fat man slumps into his car and it reminds Alex of working at the coffee shop and wonders what on earth his friends are doing now they’re all happy and engaged. The sheer scale of it all makes Alexander feel smaller as Jefferson moves around the car swiftly and pulls open his door, motioning for him to get back. 

“Any time today.” Jefferson mutters under his breath as Alex struggles to get out with the manuscripts. 

“Maybe if you’d help. I’m not a servant you know.” Jefferson sighed, striding to the door and entering a code onto a sophisticated keypad as Alex fought to get up the two steps. The taller man holds the door open, looking less bored and more annoyed with every moment Alexander wastes trying to balance. 

“Today, Hamilton.” He taps his foot impatiently. 

“If you’d help me we’d already be in your stupid apartment,” Alex snapped back, reaching his foot out hesitantly to try and find the first carpeted step, Jefferson already one flight up. If there was one thing Alex would not be killed for, it was being reckless for Jefferson’s impatience. Weight eased off the pile, enough for his arms to stop burning, so he could see, and he gaped as Jefferson turned, papers in his hand, climbing the stairs once again two at a time. “I- thank you,” he said, keeping up easier now. 

“Don’t.” 

Alex practically froze over at the chilly tone Jefferson gave him, arms flexing to hold up the papers in one hand as he answered his buzzing phone. Good god, Alex may hate him but Jefferson was a specimen and a half. Jefferson speaks in clipped, half-sentences and Alex pities whoever is on the other end of the line as they reach the top of the stairs and Jefferson jerks his head at Alex. 

“Keys,” he whispered, “In my pocket.” Alex goes hot and cold all over as Jefferson returns to his conversation, placing the manuscripts against the banister where they sat in wobbly balance. Reaching for Jefferson’s suit pocket, hesitating for a moment, feeling silly, before reaching in. Heat radiates off Jefferson’s body, warming the ever present cold buried in Alexander’s hand, as his hand plunges into the pocket and grasps air. “The other one.” Jefferson hisses. Alex swallowed and nodded, reaching into the second pocket, noting this was two more pockets of Jefferson’s he ever thought he’d be reaching into. Warm keys catch against his fingers and he pulls them out, looking up at Jefferson in victory, noticing Jefferson not looking at him as he spoke with a tighter tone into the phone. 

Alexander pushed the labelled key into the door, surprised at how easy it slid in and twisted. No sweet spot here. He pushes the door open, Jefferson pushing past him and dumping the manuscripts onto a marble island, practically yelling into the phone now, rubbing his face. Outside the door Alex returns to the manuscripts just as they tilt too much left, saving them in the nick of time. With a heavy sigh he dumped them next to the pile Jefferson had left and got a good look at the open plan apartment for the first time. Toeing off his shoes and looking around, unable to stop himself from being curious. 

Everything slotted next to each other perfectly, a neat dining table of oak sat made up with placemats and fresh flowers was in the space next to the open kitchen, the white marble countertops shot with dark smears and gold. It all looked like something pulled out the telly. A looming arch split both rooms, identical to the one leading to a lavish wide living space. Flat screen TV mounted onto the wall above a decorative fireplace sporting one picture and a pot of pens, each at opposite ends. Glass coffee table stood a stride or so from the edge of the sofa, far enough to be comfortable but close enough to reach, to even prop your legs up onto if you had impossibly long legs like Jefferson did. Yet another arch, on the same wall as the TV - which faced the dining room and kitchen - lead into a short hall with the three only doors in the apartment, besides the front one. One held a reflective plague reading it ‘Bathroom’, the one at the end of this hall, the others were impossible to discern unless you lived here, Alex guessed.

Alone, bored, curious, he pushed open the door along from the bathroom and is met by Jefferson’s impossibly neat bedroom. A dresser sat next to a wardrobe on one wall and on an elevated platform of white was Jefferson’s huge bed, covered in smooth midnight sheets. Alex does not need to touch it to know it’s all soft and silky against the skin, like being wrapped in a cloud. Standing out amongst the white are two black nightstands made of wood, then, on the level floor vacant thanks to the elevation, a small cabinet that called Alex. A forbidden air around it, something separated from the rest of the room. Something dark. Alex stepped toward it, looked behind him to check Jefferson wasn’t watching, stepping closer. Ever close. Passing where the foot of the bed began, the glass stopping him from jumping up onto the platform, inching closer. 

“Hamilton? What’re you doing?” He’d been just reaching out when Jefferson talks, making him whirl around, face red at being caught. 

“I, I, um...” Jefferson was soundless as he approached, socks and carpet merging into a soundless world. “I-“ Jefferson put a hand to the small of his back, pushed him back out into the hall, a newfound patience in every calculated moment. “I wasn’t snooping, promise.” Alex says feebly, both of them tasting the lie, but he cannot bring that feeling, watching Jefferson approach, a predator on prey, from his mind. Before this Jefferson had returned, so done with Alexander, looking vaguely annoyed and shaking his head at him. 

“Of course not,” he drawled, pushing Alex onto one of the many bar stools that line the edge of the island. “And the sky isn’t blue.” Alex could not stop blushing as Jefferson pulled a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water before draining the whole thing in one long gulp. Then he let his hands fall onto the piles, look down at them with distaste. “Snooping besides-“ 

“I wasn’t-“ 

“-there’s some serious work to do here. I hadn’t realised the pile had gotten so big until now,” Jefferson folded his hands beneath his chin, elbows digging into the marble. “Regrettably, that means I need your help.” Yet no regret lingered on his face or in those striking eyes. “Can you do that, coffee boy?” And suddenly it sounded more like a tease than an insult. 

“Yes, sir.” 

————————————

Thomas allows a smile, could not help it, as the growing arousal widens in the pit of his stomach and Hamilton reaches over the table for a manuscript. It felt awful domestic, having Hamilton here, in his kitchen, even if only to work and annoy the shit out of each other. Felt good, even. Dangerously good. So he turns to the tap and washes his hands, wiping them down on a towel and listening to the soft padding of Hamilton moving into the living room. Something in his mind is caught between liking Hamilton when he’s bratty and liking him when he’s behaving but he brushes that away, picking up his own manuscript. 

“Comfortable?” Thomas drawls, looking down at where Hamilton is spread out across the sofa as if he were planning to take a nap. 

“Oh yes,” he replies, snuggling down further, manuscript in both hands held over his face, eyes scanning over it. Thomas could not resist moving closer, as if going to sit himself, but instead pushing down on the manuscript so it and Hamilton’s face collide with a ‘thud’. “Bastard! What the fuck was that for?” 

“We’re working, not napping, Hamilton. Nap time is over, baby, now come on.” He didn’t wait to see Hamilton’s scowl (he knew it would be there and that he would look like a child who’d skipped nap time) to head into his office instead. There was silence for a moment, then Hamilton’s loud mumbling, before he followed. 

“Wow. It’s like we’re back at the office,” Hamilton noted. Thomas could only agree, his home office was identical to his work one, except the window wasn’t floor to ceiling and it was a little tighter. All the books were well-thumbed and creased down the spine, his favoured book collection, and he had a photo of her on the desk here to remind him of small things. Go to bed, have something to eat, that kind of thing, like she had when she was alive.   
Thomas gently tips her photo, leaving her face down against the wood while Hamilton looks around in marvel. Running his dainty fingers over the cracked spines, scanning the titles. 

“This is nice,” he said, finally. 

“Shut up.” Thomas rolled his eyes, sitting at his desk and pulling the laptop out the bag onto the space on the desk left for it.

“Okay, douchebag, I am doing my best to be nice to your sheltered ass so how about you return the civility?” The snap is not something Thomas expects, raising his eyes from the loading screen to raise an eyebrow where Hamilton is stood, hands on his hips and it’s like awful deja vu. 

‘Thomas, you never spend any time with me! Some essay isn’t as important as me, is it?’ He looked over his laptop, shaking his head at where she was standing, hands on her hips, head tilted just a little. ‘Huh?’   
‘Of course not, darlin’, but this is due tomorrow and-‘ She threw her hands up, sighed loudly, sitting heavily onto his bed. ‘Martha...’   
‘No, it’s fine, whatever. I don’t care.’ He had slid the laptop closed, stood and approached her, sitting gentler, wrapping an arm around her small waist, kissed her bare shoulder.   
‘I’m right here for you. Always, dear.’ 

“Huh?” Hamilton demands, pulling Thomas out of the memory, swiping at his eyes as the tears collect against his wish. “Shit, I didn’t mean to make you cry-“ 

“Shut. Up. Hamilton.” His voice was harsh and venomous, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to push away the warmth of her, the smell. Hamilton took a step back, a look of fear in his eyes as Thomas stood and turned away, staring out the window, trying to push it all back down. “Sorry. I shouldn’t snap.” Thomas felt he owed Hamilton that much - it seemed he had been trying, after all - but turning back to him his stomach dropped. Hamilton looked... not scared, no, there was something else there, something he couldn’t quite translate before Hamilton rolled his eyes and huffed, tucking his hair behind his ear. 

“Damn right you shouldn’t.” 

“Watch it, Hamilton.” Hamilton blushed in response, puffing out his cheeks and sighing, manuscript still clutched in his hands. It was all very interesting, how he acted and reacted to specific things. Perhaps... “Go. Sit. Now.” Thomas motioned at the armchair next to the bookshelf, watching Hamilton blush, obviously ticked off and, again, something else that disappeared as fast as it appeared. Still, Hamilton went and sat, flicking through the manuscript with a thumb, eyes flicking up at Thomas with a cocked eyebrow. 

“Satisfied?” That bloody tone - who did he think he was talking to? Thomas gritted has teeth and typed his login into the laptop, knowing this was going to be one long, painful day. 

He glanced at where Hamilton was running a thumb over his bottom lip, eyes flicking across the page, back and forth like a clock, mouth just so slightly open, a determination in his eyes. No right to look so hot. Thomas dismissed the thought instantly, averting his eyes, shaking his head slightly.

“What?” Hamilton demanded. 

“Nothing. Nothing,” he smirked, coyly, watched Hamilton glare at a joke he didn’t understand. A long, painful day, indeed. 

“Thank you, god, what would I do without you?” Thomas watched Hamilton let Laurens into the apartment, armed with a bag of greasy fast food that would send Hamilton into an early grave. Laurens gave a long, low whistle, eyes weeping over the interior. 

“Probably starve. This place is awesome,” Laurens caught sight of Thomas, leant against the archway leading into the kitchen, smiling awkwardly. They had not met on good terms, ever. “Hello.” 

“Hm.” Thomas hummed in response, looking pointedly at Hamilton, “What exactly is he doing here?” 

“Bringing me food that isn’t leaves and hippie smoothies?” Hamilton bit back, holding out his hand for the bag from Laurens. 

“Hamilton.” Thomas warned. 

“I don’t care you’re built like a fucking god, I like real food, not your pitiful attempts at peace-making.” Laurens looked between them as the look on Thomas’ face darkened, lighting suddenly with a laugh. Hamilton glared. “What?” 

“You think I’m built like a god, hm?” Hamilton blushes, mouth opening and closing like a fish, when Laurens places a hand on his shoulder. Calm washes over his face immediately and he leans into the touch. ‘What would I do without you’ is mouthed and Laurens smiles. Thomas feels his blood boil. Laurens’ eyes on Hamilton’s face, his hand upon Hamilton’s hand, his lips caressing the skin below Hamilton’s ear, it’s disgusting and he hates every moment of the affection. 

“How’s Eliza?” Hamilton asks, out the blue, stepping away from Laurens with this awful look of guilt on his face. Something going on here, something that made Hamilton look as if he’d committed murder. Laurens side eyed Thomas for a moment, before sighing. 

“She knows.” 

“She what!” Thomas knew the exact moment the lid blew off Hamilton’s temper, his hands ball int fists at his side, looking betrayed, looking horrified. “John you didn’t,” he had forgotten about Thomas’ presence, grabbing Laurens by the jacket and shaking him. “You didn’t!” 

“Alex...” Laurens meets Thomas’ eyes for a brief moment before Thomas resigns to stepping into the kitchen, to create the illusion of privacy. “I had to!”

“Had to my ass! No wonder she gave me a funny look this morning!” 

“You saw her?” 

“Yes I saw her, before she was yours she was my friend you know. My confidant. She’s gonna be so pissed.”

“She did seem... irked...” 

“John! How could you do this? It’s not even a big deal - we fuck, it’s not like we’re dating.” Thomas’ hand curls up around his apple, straining to continue inward against the hard slope of the apple. 

“Alex she had a right to know. Don’t you think your new boyfriend does too?’ There’s a pregnant pause. 

“Sorry?” 

“Thomas?” 

“He is not my-!” 

“‘Thomas’,” Laurens says in a high-pitched breathy replication of a moan and there’s silence in the apartment for the longest time. Thomas’ heart pounds, shocked, backing up into the counter. 

“It’s not like that.” Hamilton said, through gritted teeth. Like what? What on earth was Laurens implying something was like? And Jesus Christ why was he imitating a moan in the his perfectly innocent living room? 

“Yeah, right. Dude, I’m not doing this with you right now. Me and ‘Liza are having dinner tonight, maybe you should come and clear the air?” 

“I’m going nowhere with you.” Hamilton hisses. 

“So we’ll expect you late?” 

“Yes.” Comes the childish response. Thomas expected nothing less. 

“Okay. Look, whatever is or isn’t going on here, it’s okay to have feelings, Alexander.” There was a gagging noise. 

“Not the F word!” Hamilton whined, their voices growing quieter as Hamilton pushed Laurens out the door. “There’s none of that here.”

“I disagree.” 

“Goodbye, Alexander Hamilton. Use protection!” 

“Shut up!” The door shuts loudly and Thomas crunches into his apple thoughtfully as Hamilton returned, red in the face, placing the greasy fast food onto the kitchen island. “Sorry. He thinks he’s so clever.” 

“You two must be well-matched.” Thomas mused, taking another bite as Hamilton flushed, opening the cupboards before finally pulling out a glass. 

“Yeah. Right.” 

“Not my business. I know.” Thomas moved out the way of the sink as Hamilton filled his glass with water, taking a long, drawn out sip. Obviously pondering. 

“He’s told his new girlfriend we were friends with benefits.” He announces suddenly, a lot more information than Thomas was ever expecting to pull from him and if he weren’t chewing his mouth would have fallen open. He swallows, raising an eyebrow, prompting for more. “And that girlfriend used to be my girlfriend bloody years ago. And he was actually my boyfriend once. It’s like they’re starting some kind of club - the ‘I screwed around with Alexander Hamilton’ club.” Hamilton rubbed his face, opened the bag and it crackled loudly. “I have no idea why I’m telling you this. Suppose you’re a good listener when your head isn’t up your ass.” Hamilton looked to Thomas, waiting for his response, but Thomas only took another bite before dropping the core into the bin. 

“It’s not me with my head up my ass.” Hamilton made a spluttering noise, his mouth dropping open full of burger like the slob he was and Thomas shook his head, rooting around in the fridge for his midday smoothie. When he emerged with it the burger was gone, as was a box of fries, Hamilton licking his fingers and tilting the bag pressed against his mouth to swallow the last few crumbs. “Jesus, manners Hamilton. Heard of them?” Hamilton blushes, putting the bag down and pulling on his hair. 

“Sorry. Haven’t eaten in-“ he counted on his fingers like a toddler and with every extra finger his blood boiled a little more. “When was the thunderstorm?” 

“How are you not dead?” Thomas responds, shaking his head in disbelief as Hamilton shrugged and hopped down. 

“Living off of coffee.” He said, almost proudly, disappearing down the hall, heading for the office door that was left ajar. 

“Where on earth are you going? You haven’t eaten in almost a week, Hamilton, get back here and have something that’s bloody good for you.” Hamilton faltered, turned around, fiddling with his hands, Thomas’ orders obviously creating a battle within him, feet scuffing, until he returns. 

“Do you have anything nice?” He asked in a small voice. “And I’m not, like, a charity case or anything. I do feed myself.” Hamilton’s stomach argues instantly by growling as if he hadn’t just eaten a meal. Thomas had to resist the urge to laugh, opening the fridge door wide to allow Alexander to look inside, tucking his hair behind his ears, eyes all searching. Goodness, he was so cute and little and... 

No. This was Hamilton. 

Bratty, loudmouthed asshole. That looked up at Thomas with a soft kind of smile, pulling out a leftover tub of pasta as if this was some kind of inside joke. Goodness, when had he become like that? 

“This good?” 

“Knock yourself out.” 

————————————

Alex shifted again, changing how his legs were crossed, desperate to go to the toilet but the story was reaching the peak and no way was he leaving now. Despite only starting it yesterday he was fast approaching the end, wrist flicking as he wrote small notes, the well constructed novel not needing much editing. He shifted again, desperately trying to suppress the need to go as the stand off began, guns drawn, snuggled up into his seat. Who would die? Alexander had not been able to see any foreshadowing on either side and was desperate to know. 

“Hamilton, for goodness sakes, stop doing your little pee dance and fucking go, how old are you, three?” Alex blinked at being drawn out the world inside the pages, raising his head to where Jefferson was glaring holes into his head. 

“What?” Jefferson made a long irritated noise. 

“For the sake of my sanity please stop shifting and just go to the bathroom. I don’t care if you’re in the middle of something, if you squirm anymore I’m going to take you there myself.” Alex felt his cheeks fill with blood, standing, eyes on the floor at the humiliation even as something within him sings at it. The small part he pushes down, unsure of it, scared of it, even. So he does just that, padding down the hall into the very clearly labelled bathroom and actually sighing as he pees. Maybe it was good Jefferson had pulled him from the pages, but he would never admit that, oh, never ever. 

“Happy now?” He demands, reentering, arms open. 

“Your flies down.” Jefferson said without looking up and Alex was about to yell that it was not, when, to his horror, he finds the zip down. He readjusts it, face on fire, before curling back up into the armchair, pouting, unable to focus on the words. Why was Jefferson always right about everything? And why was he such a fucking pompous asshole? “Alexander, for goodness sake, stop pouting.” Alex’s heart stops beating in his chest. 

“You-“ he stopped, watching Jefferson look up, looking bored of Alex’s shit but Alex couldn’t find the words. “Alexander.” He repeated. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You called me, Alexander.” 

“No I didn’t.” 

“Yes you di-“ 

“No. I didn’t.” Jefferson says firmly, watching Alexander with icy eyes. “Get back to work.” Alex huffed, loudly, pulling out his phone instead of doing what Jefferson demanded. 

Dinner last night had been like pulling his own teeth out and eating then, smiles so thin and brittle as Eliza looked from him and John a million times and muttered under her breath. ‘It is over?’ She clarified, eyeing John specifically. ‘Yes, definitely,’ they promised, which brightened her mood a little. Except she had questions the answers to which dampened everything around the table - how long? how often? last time it happened? - and Alex had squirmed the whole time. He wasn’t proud that they had slept together that Saturday after Eliza and John had had an argument but he had felt so alone. Still, at the end of it all, they acted like adults and agreed never to speak of this again. Except, of course, Eliza had stopped him as he was leaving them to be a couple (all happy which he, decidedly, could not do) and held his hand. ‘Are you going to be okay?’ She asked, gently, reaching out and tucking his hair behind his ear, searching his eyes. Alex had nodded and moved out her reach, both of them knowing he was lying. 

So, scrolling through his contacts, there wasn’t a single person he felt comfortable calling with all of his stress. John had been ripped out their little happy picture, as had Eliza, his two closest confidants, and he and Peggy hadn’t gotten into the habit of talking again. Besides, she would be busy. Under average conditions he’d call Lafayette (he was such a good listener) but he knew Laf and Hercules were out planning their god damn perfect wedding with their little perfect life. Cake tasting, probably, the lucky bastards. Angelica never picked up between the hours of nine to five, and she’d probably be out with her girlfriend, Maria Reynolds, a girl she’d met in the club about a year ago when she came over and flirted with Alex, all red dress and white teeth. Alex, still in his relationship with John, had cringed awkwardly, incapable of saying no (he hated disappointing) when Angelica started flirting too. Which left him alone. Stranded. 

His stomach murmured. 

“Hungry, Hamilton?” Alex looked up, nodding slightly, putting his phone away and hoping he didn’t look as lonely as he felt. “Hm. Okay, break time.” Jefferson pushed the laptop closed, jumping up and stretching, his muscles tensing under the white shirt. It had no right to look so good. “Come on, then,” and Alex stood and followed dutifully. 

He catches the apple Jefferson tosses, sinking his teeth into the sour depths of the green, his stomach responding eagerly as he chewed. They stood on opposite sides of the kitchen, chewing on their respective apples, not saying anything and not meeting eyes. 

“You should come to mine tomorrow. It’s not fair spending all the time here.” Jefferson cocked a surprised eyebrow. “Besides, the subway-“

“One second, the subway?” Jefferson repeated, practically seething, and Alex nodded with a frown of confusion. 

“Yeah, the subway...” he repeats in obvious confusion, raising an eyebrow. 

“You know how dangerous down there is?” He demands loudly, in that protective tone that confuses Alex’s insides.

“Ugh. This a-fucking-gain” Alex rolled his eyes, really not interested in another ‘the subway is dangerous’ lecture, especially from his boss, when he drops the apple, wrists snared in one of Jefferson’s hands. Memories of the club come back, Jefferson’s low voice, ‘cock tease’, waking up the next morning to questions he never expected. They both watch the apple roll, struggling from the bites taken out of it, to a stop next to the kitchen island before they look at each other. 

“Watch. Your. Tone.” Jefferson mumbled, though his voice had never been more clear to Alex in that moment, as if the only thing that existed in the world was him and Jefferson in that kitchen. The grip tightened marginally and Alex is horrified at how his cock stirs in interest at being manhandled. “Understood?” Alex nodded wordlessly, not trusting his voice, and Jefferson lets him go, breaking the moment and he lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Yet, something in him was sitting back down, disappointed. Alex rubbed his wrists, picking up the apple and dumping it into the bin. 

“Jesus. That was kinky,” because he, frankly, couldn’t help himself - feeling at Jefferson’s mercy was not at the top of ‘things that are okay’, despite wishing he could go back and revel in it. A contradiction. Jefferson stiffened, marginally, before smoothing it over and finishing the apple he left on the side. 

“Grow up.” Jefferson titters, though that darkness it still there in his eyes, a kind of threat. Alex almost wishes he would do it again. 

“As I was saying,” Alex cleared his throat, as if the last minute hadn’t happened, “We should do this at mine tomorrow. Then I wouldn’t have to take the subway,” he adds, hoping to sway Jefferson. Being here always felt like being in another world, one he didn’t deserve to be in, and being at home would feel so much better. 

“Fine. If it will shut you up.” Alex couldn’t help but grin.

The next morning Alex waves his friends out the door to their jobs in places of work before sighing and sitting again on the sofa, aiming to get another ten minutes of sleep, when the doorbell goes. Jerking up, feeling as if he had only just closed his eyes and stumbling over to the door, pulling it open and glaring up at where Jefferson is smirking, laptop bag over his shoulder, manuscripts in hand. 

“Good morning, Hamilton.” Alex was still rubbing his eye, trying to wake up properly, as he stepped aside to let Jefferson inside. “Don’t you look ready to work?” The teasing tone so far from the usual snark, Alex dismissing it as he pushed the door closed. Too tired for Jefferson’s mind games. (Which was his own fault, really, staying up late listening to the racket coming from the other two bedrooms in the loft, the laughing, the happiness oozing out from under the doors, drowning him...) “Where’s your office?” Jefferson looked down the immediate hall, glancing around the large open room that made up the dining area, living room and kitchen, divided only by flooring and knowledge. 

“Oh, right, of course.” Alex smacked himself on the forehead, as if he was being stupid, approaching the long table and clearing away the dishes. “Here it is!” He announced, now it was free of dishes, going and dumping the breakfast articles into the sink. Jefferson’s face when he turns back around can only be described as ill-disguised disgust. 

“Please be kidding.” 

“Does this look the kind of place to have an office?” He asks, hand to his hip, watching Jefferson get that far-off look. (Alex couldn’t help wondering if these flashbacks were something to do with Martha...) Then he snaps back, placing his things onto the table hesitantly. “You aren’t going to catch anything, Jesus.” Alex pulled his own laptop off the kitchen island, sitting opposite where Jefferson was sitting awkwardly on their chairs. He waves away Petit Chat as she rubs against his leg, watching her frown in her cast way and walk away with her tail stuck high in the air. 

“Debatable. When was the last time you cleaned this table?” 

“Lafayette cleans it every morning before breakfast. It’s fine, Jefferson, you clean freak.” Jefferson looked up, a warning in his eyes, but Alex just looks down onto his laptop, pressing the power button. 

For around an hour or two there is only furious tapping and scribbling, as if they were working alone and not at Alex’s dining table in an apartment so friendly and sentimental. They share brief glances for seconds at a time, Alex always giving and looking away first, tucking hair behind his ear and wondering absently if he should put it up or if there was no point to that anymore. 

“Mon amour-“ the door eases open, Lafayette and Hercules’ laughter entering the apartment, filling it, and Alexander never felt more hollow in his life. “Ow, stop! I will not marry you!” 

“I’d like to see you try to get away from me now, Frenchman.” Jefferson looks at Alex, picking up on his mood shift, before looking around at where Hercules and Lafayette were laughing and nudging each other. 

“Ah! Alex! Thomas? A lovely surprise,” Lafayette kicked off his shoes, marching toward them both. “Alex, I have question for you.” 

“Hm?” He raised his eyes, tried to look happy. 

“Will you be best man for me? Hercules got John first.” 

“Good to see I’m second in line,” Alex responds dryly, scanning an email. Lafayette made an exasperated noise. 

“Not like that, mon ami. You are my first choice, I highlight that.” Alex looked up, shocked to find Jefferson’s usual cocky smirk. 

“Of course I will, Laf. We immigrants have to stick together, yes?” Lafayette nodded eagerly and Jefferson’s smirk falls off his face. 

“Immigrant?” He repeats. Alex raised an eyebrow at his blatant shock as Lafayette pranced into the kitchen, Hercules on his tail. 

“Yes. I’m not natively American, Thomas. You know that.” There was some tense silence before Jefferson smiled wistfully. 

“You called me Thomas.” Alexander blushes up to his roots, shaking his head and bowing his head to return to typing. “Where are you from, then?” 

“The Caribbean.” 

“Hm.” Jefferson hummed in response. “If the shoe fits wear it, I guess.” 

“How about you turn around and bend over so I can show you where my shoe fits?” Alex snarks instantly, watching Jefferson’s eyebrows shoot up as Lafayette chokes on his water, Hercules patting him on the back. 

“Kiss your mother with that mouth, Hamilton?” 

“It’s hard to kiss someone in their grave.” Yet again, Jefferson’s surprised face, looking almost guilty. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-“ 

“Shut the hell up, Jefferson. I couldn’t give a damn if you’re sorry - you didn’t kill her did you? I’m so done with people being sorry, that’s not exactly bringing her back, is it?” Jefferson looked away. Alex looked up at where Lafayette was watching, face pinched, looking as if he wants to say something. “Yes, Laf, I know. Watch my mouth. I’m sorry.” Lafayette’s face relaxed, his mothering instincts dropping away as he turns back to chopping up a pineapple for a fruit salad he will force Alexander to have. He would much prefer eating an apple in Jefferson’s perfect kitchen, or, rather, not eating an apple. He rubs his wrists at the memory and Jefferson notices. 

————————————

“Thomas, mon ami, it is good to see you,” Lafayette finally addresses Thomas, wiping his dripping wrists on a towel and kissing both Thomas’ cheeks in greeting, Thomas returning the favour. He still isn’t quite level with learning so much about Hamilton yet - an immigrant with a dead mother - sending hesitant glances his way every now and again. Over time, as Lafayette and his fiancé laugh, his brow darkens and then they leave for napkin choosing and the apartment is empty save for them.

Not long after they’ve gone, Thomas glances up, watching those pretty eyes brim up with tears and his heart cries out for him. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, fanning his face, obviously in distress. 

“Hamilton?” 

“This is your fault!” He snaps instantly, the yell echoing back to them. “Bringing up my mother. Jesus Christ.” He presses his fingers to the corners of his eyes, blinking furiously, and Thomas understands him. Understands the brave face, he truly get Hamilton for a moment. He reaches out, puts his hand over Hamilton’s and their eyes meet. 

“At least you had your dad?” He prompts hopefully. 

“Left when I was ten.” Hamilton responds instantly, snorting. “Debt-fuelled idiot. Didn’t see how awful leaving would be.” Thomas swallows, feeling quite lost now - was there nothing to comfort Hamilton with? When he lost Martha it had shredded his insides, made him feel like living wasn’t worth it anymore but he’d had James, he’d had Mother. “And before you say ‘family’ the only family I had was a cousin who committed suicide shortly after I went into his care. So yeah.” Thomas just blinks at him, the hand underneath his cold, Hamilton looking anywhere but his eyes. Almost like he was ashamed. “Seemed nobody wanted me, huh?” Hamilton’s hand retreated, moving back to his side. “Please don’t pity me. I’m the same guy you’ve known this whole time.” Except his voice was so small, so not-Hamilton, so vulnerable and terrified. Thomas wants to extend an olive branch, wants Hamilton to feel normal, so he tries. 

“Okay. You bastard.” Hamilton laughs, his voice cracking as the tears drip down his face.

“Pompous ass.” 

“Short stack.” 

“Not short.” 

“Poor baby.”

“Trust fund kid.”

They fell into silence, both of them ignoring the tears running down Hamilton’s cheeks, ignoring was what they did best. 

“The love of my life died in a car accident when we were in college,” he says finally, leaning back in the uncomfortable seat. “Drunk driver. Happened in an instant.” He clicked his fingers to symbolise. Hamilton didn’t look shocked, but perhaps trauma had him numbed. “She was going home from my dorm. She wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me.” Their eyes met and it seemed for one long moment they understood one another. Guilty, ashamed, scared, of a past they couldn’t escape from. “Was going to marry her.” Thomas admits, something even she hadn’t known, something even James didn’t know. Why was he being so forward with Hamilton? It felt like he could tell Hamilton everything, anything, including the building affection rising in his chest for him, making him want to kiss him, stop thinking about Martha and just move ON-

“I bet she was real special.” Hamilton says softly. So softly, but not as if Thomas was glass, because he understood. She had understood. ‘You remind me of her’ is right there, on his tongue, but its too far, exposes too much. 

“Oh, the most.” He admits, voice breaking. 

“How could she stick a stuck up prick like you?” Thomas laughed even as the lump in his throat grew. 

“Luck, really.” 

“Is she the one from the picture? In the broken frame?” Why is he so observant yet so blind?

“Yeah. Yeah, she is. Always made me carry a picture of her, to remind me of the only good thing in my life.” Thomas laughed but it sounded like someone strangling a cat, Hamilton said nothing for a moment. Then, he pulls a locket, the very glittering gold thing Thomas spotted that night in the bar, and stands, leaning over the table and closer to Thomas. It flicks open on well-oiled hinges and Thomas meets the same eyes in a woman’s face, a baby in her arms, smile so wide and open, her hair loose and curly in all the right place. 

Hamilton looked like his mother. 

“Wear this almost everywhere. Keep her close to my heart, you know?” Hamilton shrugged as if it were nothing, sitting back down and sliding the locket out of sight, their eyes never breaking connection. Thomas doesn’t know what to say, at how forward Hamilton kept being, at this revelation. 

“That’s sweet.” 

“Thank you.” 

Suddenly, Hamilton laughed. “Damn, wasn’t that cheesy? Do you wanna kiss and cry now?” Thomas laughed, shaking his head, feeling his hair bounce around him. “You sure? It would be the cherry on top of our tragedy sundae?” 

“I’d rather kiss Burr.” Hamilton pulled a face. “You’re real nasty, Jefferson. You can barely keep your hands off me,” Hamilton spread his arms wide, leaning back in his chair, the insecurity in his eyes the only thing contradicting his confidence. 

“Oh, yes, how do I survive,” Thomas drawls, accent suddenly thick, watching Alexander flush brightly, tucking his arms back in. For a moment he wishes he could lean over the table and kiss Alexander through the tears as if it didn’t matter, as if it didn’t destroy the morals around his dear Martha. 

“Probably off of leaves and hippie dances.” Thomas snorted, shocking them both, before they dissolve into comfortable laughter. 

“And disco music.” Hamilton pretended to gag and Thomas could not help the warmth in his chest, could not sense the danger as the warmth wrapped him up inside, watching Hamilton be an idiot. 

“You disgust me.” 

“I aim to repulse.” Thomas shrugs. 

“Get back to work you slacker.” Thomas scoffed but returned to trying, looking up only one last time to meet Hamilton’s eyes and smile, so small, so kind, before it vanishes and they are who they started. 

————————————

“For a coffee boy this place is pretty nice.” Jefferson says as he stands in the kitchen, Alex sat on the kitchen island, both of them eating bowls of Lafayette’s surprisingly good fruit salad. 

“Oh shut up. Not all of us can live in a huge apartment that could only be more obnoxious if you wrote ‘rich’ on the door.” Jefferson looks down into his bowl, stabbing a square of apple and popping it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. 

“Suppose. Don’t see why not.” As if implying everyone should be rich is as simple as breathing? 

“Um, because not everyone is running off their parents money?” Alex’s tone is sharper than Jefferson appears to expect, he’s always felt more strongly that rich kids should have learned to fend for themselves and not off of well-made parents. Hates the fact some have the audacity to say some people are poor because they choose to be. 

“I work plenty hard thank you.” Jefferson’s tone has also bristled. 

“Did you pay to put yourself through college?” Jefferson’s mouth opened and closed, slowly. “If you lost your job was there any possibility you’d end up on the streets?” He purses his lips and slowly shakes his head. 

“Doesn’t mean I don’t work hard, Hamilton.” 

“That’s exactly what it means.” Alex says with a finality, trying to show the conversation is over. 

“No, it’s not,” Jefferson insists, obviously not taking hint, “I just had an easier start in life. Doesn’t mean I didn’t have to fight through law school to finish as quick as I did. Doesn’t mean I don’t work my ass off now, after Washington pulled me out of being a lawyer at the top of my game. I may be a rich kid with my parents behind me but I have worked harder than you probably ever will to get to where I am at twenty-six - which I am.” Alexander scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

“Oh yes, you had half the job done for you.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me, Jefferson. You haven’t done jack shit.” 

“Watch your tone, Hamilton.” 

“No! You watch your mouth! You’re a dick with a diamond spoon in your mouth and no one can change that.” 

“You’re just a little kid who got lucky because people pity you!” 

“At least I worked for where I am.” 

“You begged, Hamilton, on your knees, for this job. Without me you wouldn’t even have this job because you can’t watch your goddamn mouth. So how about you learn to?” Alex made a loud amount of scoffing noises, pointing and waving his finger in an accusing manner, unable to form any words. Then, just like that, he snapped shut his mouth and went back to his seat, tapping furiously on his laptop keys, not glorifying Jefferson with a look. Was he right? He couldn’t be. He had earned this job, hadn’t he, earned and was good at it? Surely Jefferson wouldn’t keep something, someone, he hated around for basically no reason? 

He dismissed his questions. 

Even though they ate him inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally two chapter so there was a mini-time skip between scenes. Originally Alex was arrested and everything- but I changed it so we can see them be a bit domestic :)   
> Hope you enjoyed! Stay safe!


	8. Chapter 8

Alexander insists that Jefferson do work at his on Thursday as he shows him out and, begrudgingly, Jefferson agrees that Thursday will be the last time before returning to work. Plans, of course, never go to, well, plan. Not with Alexander Hamilton. A quiet day of work was interrupted when a surprise pipe burst in the coffee shop has everyone home, loud, just a few steps away from the kitchen table watching the TV. Petit Chat purrs loudly on Lafayette’s lap, heard over the TV. Jefferson makes many loud complaints to Alex, who doesn’t respond. Embarrassment flushing his face all day, until Jefferson finally disappears to the bathroom. 

“Oh, Alex, he’s so cute, isn’t he?” Eliza makes kissy faces and Alex glowers, turning back to his laptop. “Admit it, it’s not like you can deny it. Heck, even Laf says he’s hot as anything and he’s engaged.” Alex wants to point out he’s not denying anything, but that seems like the wrong thing to say.

“Ma amie!” Lafayette says in a faux betrayed way, slapping her playfully as Hercules hugs him tighter into his lap. “I only have eyes for mon amour.” He makes goo-goo eyes at Hercules who kisses his cheek affectionately, stroking Petit Chat who only gets louder. 

“But he’s cute?” Eliza prompts. 

“How you say? Fuck yes?” Shocked laughter fills the room from each of them, even Alex despite his attempts at being straight faced through the whole thing. Giving a reaction encouraged more teasing, but he can’t help it. When they weren’t shoving their perfect lives down his throat, at the end of every long day, they were the same friends he loved. 

“Don’t deny it, ‘Lex. You’re in LOVE,” John bat his eyelashes. “Oh, Jefferson...” he coos in a bad imitation of Alex’s voice. 

“That’s disgusting.” But he cannot keep the grin from his voice. 

“Alex, you actually laugh when people are pulled apart in Jurassic Park. Do not tell us what is disgusting.” 

“That’s irrelevant.” Alex brushes it away, cheeks red. (He was kicked out a cinema once when he split his sides laughing when an arm was ripped off a worker, much to his dismay, all his friends watching and shaking their heads.) “I’d rather french kiss my own father.” There’s a chorus of ‘ew’-s and head shaking. “Now shut up. He’ll be back in a second.” God forbid Jefferson walked in on them gossiping like school children. 

“Aw, are we embarrassing you Allie Wally?” John pouted, though it hardly masked the grin spreading across his face. “We can be a whole lot more embarrassing you know, Alex.” 

“Do. Not. Dare.” He grits between his teeth. 

“Try me shawty.” John sasses straight back, Eliza laughing and nudging his ribs with an elbow. 

“Freckles.” 

“You think they’re cute.” Alex stuck his tongue out, jerking his head back down as Jefferson emerges, wiping his hands against his trousers. So casual, so human, and all Alex wants to do is kiss him. 

“What’s cute?” He asks, in that innocent way, but Alex sees the wicked glint in his beautiful eye. Bastard had probably been listening the whole time. His heart flutters - Jefferson had heard it all and not gone running. 

“My freckles,” John flicked his hair, grinning. “Alex says so.” 

“Did not!” They all look at where he’s stood, slamming his hands onto the table, breathing hard. “I’m not attracted to douchebags.” Jefferson is smiling, in that ‘oh really’ way and Alex’s mouth is dry. 

“Beg to differ!” John sing-songs. “You’d kill to be with me again.” 

“Yeah, I’d kill you.” 

“Defeats the point, doesn’t that, Hamilton?” God, his voice, all low and fire erupts against Alex’s skin as if he’s being touched by that goddamn voice and he has to look away, face red. Not attracted to Jefferson though (obviously). He couldn’t be, not even a little, they were colleagues, the asshole was his boss. He clears his throat awkwardly, leaning back on his chair. 

“Yeah. That was my point. You’re just not my type, John.” There’s only a moment where he catches that wicked look, falling forward, hoping his eyes conveyed warning as good as Jefferson’s. Except, there’s really no stopping John. 

“And who is? Southerners with an attitude?” Alex’s eyes nearly fall out his head, glaring at John so furiously that he has to look away, almost sheepishly, looking to Eliza with a knowing face. Even Jefferson seems rendered speechless for a beautiful two minutes as everyone just stares at each other, incapable of speech or explaining it away. 

“Well. Mine certainly isn’t loudmouthed little coffee boys.” Jefferson finally announces, pulling out his chair and sitting, meeting Alex’s eyes and winking. Why was he winking? Why did it make Alex feel like his insides were jelly? 

“That eliminates everyone in this room but Hercules.” Eliza admits with a sigh, shaking her head at their idiocy. Lafayette turns accusingly to Hercules, joking in his eyes. 

“Oh? So it is Thomas you cheat with?” Hercules laughed and shook his head, running his hand through Lafayette’s hair. 

“Why would I cheat? I have all I want right here.” Lafayette smiles at a private joke, kissing Hercules in that sweet, lovey way that makes everyone feel like they’re interrupting something. 

“Might miss this, actually,” Jefferson muses, catching Alexander’s eyes. “Beats the awkward silence at my place, huh?” And now it’s Laf’s, Eliza’s and Hercules’ turn to lose their eyes in surprise. 

“You’ve been to Thomas Jefferson’s place!?” She demands suddenly. 

“So has John.” Alex points out accusingly. 

“Hey, don’t pin this on me!” 

“I cannot believe this!” 

“Mon ami, since when? How are you not the dating?” 

“Robbery, guys, a robbery is why we were there.” 

“We’re here and not dating.” 

“Debatable.” 

“Argh!” 

Alex sighs, filling his mouth to the brim with lucky charms before Lafayette spots the colourful cereal and throws it out the window. (Something that had happened one sad, sad time they did not mention.) Jefferson is watching, chewing on an orange piece, smiling a far-off smile that lights Alexander like a Christmas tree - which is, well, new. He was the person who had got it down as Alex struggled, both of them holding fingers to their respective lips, this silent agreement not to mention it passing between them. So, as Alex shovels it into his face, Jefferson only half-smiles and watches, eating his far healthier dinner while Alex’s friends yell at the TV screen - ‘kiss kiss kiss’ - a chant that bores into Alex. Watching Jefferson, jumping off the counter and placing the bowl into the sink next to him.

Watching Jefferson watch him, all bemused and beautiful. Something stirs in Alex’s stomach and puts him on tiptoes, and perhaps it’s the same something that makes Jefferson lower his head slowly. Their noses bump and Alex wonders if Thomas can smell the sugar on his breath, the citrusy smell and cologne of Thomas’ washing across him. Thomas twists his head and his breath ghosts Alex’s lips and his head is screaming this is so wrong but it doesn’t matter. The fact his friends would only need to twist their face so slightly to witness the scene didn’t matter. He’s about to kiss Jefferson, after what felt like forever of waiting, of longing, of fighting with the voice in the back of his head. Weighing pros and cons as he lay in bed, staring into the darkness, wondering if it would be so bad. If this would be so bad. Nothing matters, not now, not in this moment, not so close...

What matters is Jefferson pulling away. Standing upright and moving toward the bin, dumping his orange peel, leaving Alex disoriented and dizzy. Had it even really happened? It had felt real - the breath, his thundering heart, that sweet smell - but perhaps lucky charms really were bad for you. Still, that haunted look in Jefferson’s eyes say so much more than they needed to and Alex’s stomach sunk to the centre of the earth and zinged back to make him feel sick. He’d just tried to kiss Jefferson. He had just tried to kiss Jefferson. What was he thinking? They hated each other - so much, so awfully - it felt like he was going to puke. 

That was before he met Eliza’s raised eyebrows and open mouth. 

Suddenly the threat to puke felt less like a threat and very, very real. 

“‘Lex? You okay? You look pale.” That was Lafayette, turning around on the couch and staring into Alexander’s soul as his stomach turned, the lucky charms sitting awkwardly. He’d die if he puked in the kitchen sink but he couldn’t move. Jefferson was watching him now, cocked eyebrow, and that look in his face, that ‘go on, admit I affect you’, makes all nausea and embarrassment die. So he was just TEASING Alex, just making him feel special? To ruin him like this? 

This, ladies and gentlemen, is why he fucks without feelings. 

“Yeah. I’m peachy.” He responds, staring Jefferson down. He raised his hands, marginally, almost in peace but Alexander knew better, sitting back down to his laptop with his back to Alex. Which give Alex the chance to lean back against the counter and breathe heavily for a moment, gather everything Jefferson had screwed up, before returning to work. 

Work. So easy to get lost in. Jefferson leaves and Eliza goes home, Lafayette and Hercules head to bed early, John stays up and laughs at a stupid comedy until the early hours when he rubs Alex’s shoulder and tells him to go to bed. Alex shrugs him off and keeps typing his final evaluation until the early hours when his eyes droop and he falls asleep against the keys, typing continuous ‘dhgdsbvfdjhb’ into the early hours, completing missing his alarm. Missing his train, a blanket tucked over his shoulders as Lafayette heads out to talk to plumbers, Hercules eventually replacing the laptop with a pillow. 

By the time Alexander Hamilton showed up at Jefferson’s door it was past lunchtime, sleep stuck deep into the corners of his eyes, looking like a dead man walking as Jefferson opens the door. The asshole scoffs, glancing at his watch. Like he doesn’t know he’s the reason Alex has become ruined. 

“What time do you call this?” 

“My time,” Alex pushes past, rubbing his eye had to try and wake up properly, laptop bag across his shoulder and manuscript sliding through his hand. He wasn’t in the mood for Jefferson’s mind fucks - he had very little patience for this right now, felt like his head had been mashed into bits. Worse than a hangover. 

“You’re lucky I’m nice, Hamilton. Seabury would have you fired.” Alex shuddered - Samuel Seabury, a repetitive idiot that thought he was higher than someone because he stood on the current winning side. His least favourite customer hands down, that including Burr, Lee and Adams. Maybe not Adams. One of his least favourites - they all sucked quite equally. 

“Then fire me,” he turned, arms open, daring Jefferson with a swish of his hips and tired raising of his eyebrow. “I bloody dare you.” Jefferson’s face hardened, frowning, but Alexander turned away before the look could only conclude in his favour - which, lets face it, it had to fall. He had done much worse things than this and had kept this stupid, shitty job. 

“I don’t like your tone.” 

“I don’t give two shits.” 

“Hamilton-“

“Shut up,” Alex grumbles, placing both manuscript and laptop onto the stupidly expensive glass coffee table. “I need you to just shh,” he taps his finger to his lips aggressively, not even looking at Jefferson. “My head is pounding and I would kill for a decent meal right now but I have to come and work for you. Feels fucking great, hm? Shit, I’m so tired.” Alex collapsed onto the couch, rubbing his face and sinking low into the cushions, his body hating too much sleep and too little food but it would also hate the opposite. It had come to the point of no return. 

“Hamilton, I’d really watch your tongue.” Alex blew a loud and childish raspberry at where Jefferson was standing, arms folded, feet bare, and Alex finally takes in his appearance. Holy shit he was hot. Why didn’t Jefferson wear casual clothes more often? Sweatpants hung low on his attractive hips, an average white top clinging to his muscles in all the right places and Alex wants to just jump onto him. Except, of course he doesn’t. Doesn’t want to. Jefferson sighed, rubbing his forehead, tapping his foot impatiently. “Just go home.” 

“What? No!” 

“Hamilton, there is a whole of three,” he waves three fingers in the air to emphasise, foot tapping harder. “Hours left of your working day. What would be the point of trying to get anything done? So how about you go home? You look like shit, sounds like you feel like shit, so go!” 

“No. I have three hours,” Alex stuck his chin up and folded his arms with finality, standing, arms folded tight against his chest, almost protectively. 

————————————

Thomas hates how much Alexander Hamilton reminds him of her. 

The arms folding, the hip popping, the attitude, even his insults had that air to them, something that was so like her but not quite. Maybe he wasn’t like her at all, perhaps he was making a subconscious connection to explain his attraction, but he wasn’t a therapist and didn’t intend to ever be one. So he brushes it all away as he watches Hamilton pick back up his laptop and leave the manuscript, stumbling into Thomas’ office like a drunk. Jesus Christ, to think he had almost kissed that idiot yesterday was genuinely nauseating. 

Kissing Hamilton? Unthinkable. Look at how he was behaving, moping around, rolling his eyes and snapping at his authority figure, his boss. It just wouldn’t work out, now even a little. 

Still, Thomas cannot help thinking about it as Hamilton snores lightly in the armchair, laptop ever slipping downward, cannot help remembering how his eyes had slid closed and it had felt, just a moment, like back then. Bass thumping in the back of his head, red plastic cup full of cheap beer sloshing in his hand, marching around as if he owned the place and being dragged aside by her. Leaning down into her embrace, her fruity breath, the smile and airy laughter. Kissing Hamilton went against her, he was sure of it, disgraced her memory. Ruined what love was supposed to be. He couldn’t kiss him, not on the lips at the very least, it ruined what he assumed was his morals and would wreck his conscience. Imagine kissing someone that wasn’t her. 

Still, an affection toward Hamilton is undeniable. 

Shaking him gently to wake him up, watching his bleary eyes take him in and lean against his thigh, nuzzle into the fabric and mumble. 

“Five more minutes please.” The pleading voice is so far from Hamilton, pressing his warm face into Thomas’ leg. 

“Hamilton it’s really time to go home.” 

“Don’t wanna...” he continues, sleepily.

“Come on Hamilton,” he nudges him, thigh to face, watching Hamilton only groan and move away to lean back onto the free cushion. “You’ve been sleeping all day. At least have the decency to go do it at home.” More groaning and twisting, not even opening his eye as Thomas keeps prodding and poking to get him to wake up. “Hamilton, I’m being serious. Is there someone I can call?” 

“Date night,” Hamilton whines, curling up smaller (as if that was possible). 

“What?” Hamilton finally sits up, rubs his face and shakes his head, hair falling around his shoulders. 

“Lafayette and Hercules aligned their date night with Eliza and John’s. Means I’m home alone between the hours of whatever and whenever.” Hamilton pauses, swallows, debates his options. “Why do people date, Jefferson?” He asks suddenly, and their eyes meet, the question obviously eating Hamilton up, but there is something else there, an unspoken question that makes his skin itch. “You dated that, that Martha? Loved her? Why would you do that?” He doesn’t remember telling Hamilton her name... Thomas’ mouth opens and closes as he tries to find an answer for a question he’d asked himself a million times when they had been together and not once since her passing. Was it the challenge? Or her contrasting beliefs? All those things present in Hamilton... “It all seems so stupid. Love, lust, what’s the difference?” 

“I don’t love you.” He states simply, and watches Hamilton look up with this shocked happy smile. 

“You lust after me?” 

Thomas pulls a face - he had meant it only in implication, hearing it out loud wasn’t the same as the coy hinting. But Hamilton was grinning, dopey and half awake. 

“It’s okay, Thomas. I don’t expect you to have the answer. Dreams don’t work that way do they?” Thomas can only smile fondly. 

“You’re dreaming?” He asks, watching Hamilton nod and slump back into the chair, but their eyes never break contact. 

“Yuh huh. No duh. So of course you don’t know. I’m not childish enough to imagine what I want.” ‘Childish’, as if dreams and wants were below him. 

“What is it you want, Hamilton?” 

“You, often. Lucky charms too. Bloody Lafayette.” Thomas cannot help laughing and shaking his head. Cannot believe Hamilton is.... what, confessing? “They proposed in the kitchen, you know.” He continues. “Imagine being so sure of yourself that you propose in the kitchen, Thomas. Where literally the night before Lafayette had been slaving over the dishes and complaining and swearing loudly in French that Herc was lazy. Can you imagine?” 

“They love each other.” He could have proposed to Martha anywhere, on the way to English, in their dorm room, sat across from one another in a cafe. The things she said, the way she moved, made him want to get on his knee and ask, beg if he had to, for her to be his and he hers for the rest of forever. Beyond death. 

“Yeah, I know. Makes me feel so small, you know? All my friends have stable and prominent relationships, and sex lives, seriously, I wish the walls in that apartment were thicker, and I’m just here dreaming about you. In your posh ass apartment. God, you’re a real rich asshole, you know that?” Thomas rolls his eyes. 

“Someone keeps telling me.” 

“Ha ha. That’s me.” Thomas booped Hamilton’s nose, the consequences dripping anyway. 

“Yes it is.” 

“You’re so sexy.” 

“And you’re pretty, aren’t you?” 

Hamilton leans into the touch, smiles, watches. 

And Thomas feels a wall crash and burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter for this book to go!!! Ahhhhh. I hope you liked this chapter :) have a great day!


	9. Chapter 9

Thomas strolls in Monday morning, Madison following after his footsteps with Burr, chattering about a great weekend Thomas isn’t interested in. Really, he didn’t need to know what Burr and Madison sat and watched between rounds of fucking, he needed to get into his office and catch up with publicity issues. Two guys were in custody, weeping as Washington’s law suits crushed them and the best lawyers available besides Thomas were beating them black and blue. The deeds had been returned, everything had been righted, except... the whispering. People kept whispering about Hamilton’s odd behaviour, betting he was in on it, betting on his oddity, muttering about how awful it is Thomas had to deal with him. How they’d fire the mouthy idiot if they had the choice. 

It’s maddening. 

“Why do you think Washington is calling a meeting, Thomas? He doesn’t do formalities, even when it comes to these kind of things.” Burr nodded, agreeing endlessly with James. It makes Thomas want to vomit, especially being cooped up in the elevator with them and their insufferable happiness. So comfortable with each other, so at ease, and he wants something like that. That would be okay, if he didn’t have a specific person he wanted it with.  


“Wait! Shit, hold the door!” Hamilton shouts, (think of the devil he shall appear...) running across the lobby, paper spilling out his stupid satchel and Thomas is smiling as he puts his hand out to stop the closing doors. Hamilton pants, slowing, stepping in next to Thomas, chest rising violently, nodding toward James, then eyeing Burr before looking up almost expectantly at Thomas. “M-morning, Mr., Mr. Jefferson.” He pants and Thomas raises an eyebrow in response (Mr. Jefferson? Really?) as the doors ding closed and the air grows awkward. There is rustling as Hamilton desperately pushes the papers back into his bag, mumbling and grumbling. He looks like he got some good sleep last night and Thomas can’t explain why that makes him happy. 

“Good morning, Hamilton. Ready for the meeting?” He asks, in the offhand ‘it’s a formality way’ except Hamilton looks up at him like he’s an alien for saying ‘good morning’ in his general direction. 

“A meeting?” Hamilton responds in exasperation, slouching and groaning loudly, before straightening and cleaning his throat as if remembering their fellow elevator companions. It almost makes Thomas glad, that Hamilton was so relaxed with him, and him alone. “Um, yay?” Thomas laughs, shaking his head. He feels James stare into his back with suspicion. 

“We were discussing what it could be about,” James prompts, always the peace maker, always so kind to people so low. 

“Oh, probably funding,” Hamilton waves a hand dismissively. “It was on the news - a big spending philanthropist’s daughter is joining a publishing company so he’s jumping ship. Bet we don’t even have a contingency plan. Better open your wallet, Jefferson.” Thomas scoffs (cannot help himself) and wants so badly to strangle the little man right there and then (not in the sexy way, either). No one says anything until Thomas turns to Hamilton. 

“If you’re right I know exactly what to cut.” The threat is not lost and both James and Burr hold their breath. 

“Seems awful you’d feel the need to resign Jefferson.” Hamilton responds sweetly. 

“Hamilton-“ 

“Suppose if you think you have to. How very noble.” They watch each other and if they had been alone Hamilton would be found dead and dismembered and Jefferson would admit to it. But they are not so they turn to the doors as if it had never happened and Hamilton slides out the second the gap is wide enough, skipping down the hall, leaving a trail of paper behind him. James picks them up, muttering his distaste to littering, bunching them up and handing them to Thomas. 

“You let him talks to you like that?” He demands. Knowing Thomas, not liking this, whatever this was. 

“Shut up,” Thomas growls in response, (which only makes James more suspicious, what with Thomas’ normally endless patience for him) walking into his too-clean office, dusted to perfection, everything as it had been. It almost makes him feel ill, seeing everything os normal, but open a drawer and it is revealed. No Martha, no neat assortment of highlighters, it looked okay only on the surface. 

He felt that way, sometimes...

“Thomas, whatever is going on I don’t like it. He’s so... so...” 

“Mouthy?” Thomas offers, dropping his bag underneath the desk, pressing the computer button to allow it time to turn on while they were in this stupid meeting. 

“He reminds me of-“ James cuts himself off. “Tom, no.” Oh god, not sympathy, anything but that, Thomas would even be okay with mad. “Look, just hand him over to someone else.” 

“To get fired for his brilliance?” God, he could imagine it now. Hamilton wouldn’t even last an hour with someone else. 

“Yes!” James says in exasperation. “You’re letting a kid-“ 

“He’s only like a couple years younger.”

“-stick around because he reminds you of her. He’s his own person, Tom, a human being that won’t be able to handle when you snap.” 

“I’m not going to snap.” 

“You always snap, Tom. Attachment is something that eats you alive. One of these days he’s going to get a girlfriend and you’re going to freak the hell out.” 

“I am not!” Free of his bag, now, he came to James’ side, placing a hand to his friends shoulder and smiling widely. “First of all, who’s gonna date him?” James mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘you’ but Thomas ignores it. “Second, I don’t care if he’s dating any-“ 

Hamilton takes his hand, wraps it around Peggy’s waist and dips her, this romantic display that’s private in the once-empty corridor, bowing his head, then they’re kissing. Thomas gags, physically. Fire erupts in his stomach and maybe this is what James meant by snapping but he cannot stand that- that- bitch’s mouth on HIS Alexander. (Oh, god, when did Hamilton become his?) Their lips mesh in this gross look of saliva and tongue that make him want to burn the building down to the ground, Peggy’s gross hands delving into his hair. Sliding another hand down his side and- 

“Argh!” Hamilton gargles (ew!) and pulls away, pulling her out her unsteady feet, both of them watching each other before laughing. Laughing, as if Thomas wasn’t vibrating in anger. 

“What’s the big deal again?” Ms. Schuyler’s tone is teasing. Like this all some big joke to them, because their children, they don’t understand-

“That it’s me!” Hamilton argues, stepping onto her toes. 

“Perhaps Eliza and John and the other half of New York you’ve slept with rubbed off the magic.” Thomas has to ball his hands into fists to stop the angry shaking, knowing James can see, hating that his best friend can see how much Hamilton is making him... feel. 

“You’re a bitch.” Thomas agreed. 

“Alexander!” They laugh and push each other, until Hamilton sees the crayon and wheezing penguin, stepping on Peggy’s foot, motioning. “Oh, Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Madison, how do you do?” She curtsied, mockingly, and Thomas imagines crushing her windpipe under his hand. “Apologies for our improper display of affection, obviously Alex is impossible to keep your hands off,” she purposefully grabs at his waist and he shocks them all by bursting into giggles the second her dainty fingers press against him. 

“Ah, no, stop, bwah! Peggy!” Thomas forgets all about being mad as Alex struggles, sees the platonic love between them, and his blood goes from boiling to simmering quietly. (Still didn’t explain their frankly disgusting kiss.) James pulls a face (he has never been the cuddly type which is good because neither has Thomas) and looks to Thomas, surprised to find fondness in his eyes as Peggy attacks. (Was this not the man that looked ready to go on a murder spree a moment ago?) 

“That’s enough you two,” he says, that fondness taking the edge from his voice, “We have a meeting to get to, if you can keep your tongues out of each other’s mouths.” Alexander and Peggy look at each other like children, a notebook against Alexander’s side, excited to be a part of his first meeting as Peggy rolls her eyes and looks to Thomas. In that ‘look at this nerd’ way. Thomas sees her appeal with sudden clarity as Peggy looks back to Hamilton. 

They are very bad at whispering. 

“So you’re telling me Eliza know you and John fucked without strings?” Thomas shudders at the reminder. 

“Was NOT happy.” 

“I cannot imagine that conversation.” 

“I don’t have to imagine.” Hamilton faked throwing up as they approached the meeting room, foggy glass coming into view. “Now I get to listen to them have sex. All the time. Jesus Christ sometimes I think shoving my dick in a blender would be nicer than that.” 

“Ew!” Peggy squeals, laughing, pushing open the door and quieting herself immediately, heading to the left of Washington’s high seat where her fellow marketers were sat. Thomas ushers Hamilton to the right side, where three seats are waiting for them at the main desk, directly next to Washington and raised slightly, a symbol of importance that bores Thomas. But Hamilton looks thrilled, stepping up the platform, pulling out his seat, sitting with his notebook out, tapping his foot with nervous energy and Thomas places a hand to his thigh. Gives him a look. 

Washington enters soon after and Thomas pulls back his hand instantly, despite it being there for longer than necessary. Everyone stands in unison, except Hamilton, who hurries to follow suit and kicks his chair aggressively in the process, obviously withholding a squeak of pain. It’s enough to make everyone stare and mutter, shaking their heads. Thomas has to fight a laugh. 

“Be seated, please. You’re going to want to be seated for this news.” More muttering, except louder, wanting to be overheard as Washington takes his seat and Thomas watches. “You may have heard George Eaker, our main donor, is moving his money elsewhere with his daughter.” There’s a loud gasping and Thomas looks to Hamilton who is writing down the reaction (‘uncultured, head-stuck-up-their-own-asses, literal idiots’) grinning at being right. “We need ideas on how to fight against this sudden decrease in funds.” 

“Sir, if I may?” Adams stands, smoothing the front of his suit, looking like the real ass he was. 

“Yes, Mr. Adams?”

“I feel it necessary to point out most employees here are completely capable of working alone.” Before Hamilton Thomas would have said the exact same and it makes him feel sick that he’s anything like Adams. “Employment cuts seem in order.” His stupid smug smirk makes Thomas want to throw him out the window. 

“What!” 

“Hamilton sit down,” Thomas hisses. 

“Cutting employees is like asking to cut your depleting funds you idiot!” The whole room gasps again. “What we need is a contingency plan, necessary fund cutting and a new donor. Someone well-known, someone who will bring people in. Firing people is short term solution!” Thomas feels his mouth open slightly, curving into a smile, almost proud. 

“Mr. Hamilton, please sit down.” The heart broken look on Hamilton’s face rips open Thomas’ insides. “You too, Mr. Adams. I will not tolerate yelling, we are civilised, yes?” Adams mutters ‘yes, sir’ instantly as Hamilton sulks. “Mr. Hamilton?” The warning tone makes panic flash upon Hamilton’s face. 

“Yes sir.” 

“Good. Now then, Hamilton, continue?” Hamilton smirks, jumping over the table with ease to stand in the open pitching space. Thomas wants to call him a show off but would rather see where this was going without making Hamilton blow his lid first. 

“We need a contingency plan, for starters.” He goes to the whiteboard in front of them, pulling a pen from the pot, like he owned the place. It was disturbingly hot. “It’s for things that don’t go to plan - a plan B - for things like this.” He writes in neat letters ‘Long Term Solution’ and scribbles ‘contingency plan’ beneath it. “Putting one in place is crucial - you should already have one, really.” Washington looks to the finances department where Adams is fidgeting and Thomas loves Hamilton making him awkward. Loves how Hamilton notices but just plows on, writing ‘necessary cuts’ after a second bullet point. “Actual cuts that need making are easy. Things like office-coffee that could, potentially, be removed altogether. Object worth evaluation is in order.” He writes this in brackets and people mutter in agreement. “As for a new donor, well, Mr. Washington, you are the owner of this company, yes?” He turns out to face them, ‘donor’ written at the end of the list, popping the cap back onto the pen. “That will bring people in. A fundraiser of sorts seems reasonable.” Washington nods, agreeably. Thomas is excited for Hamilton, even though he hates the idea of moving over to the Finances department because Hamilton was good at something. Washington would know that. He’d have a solution. 

“Sir this is insane-“ Adams says, standing in outrage, his finance team (the office shit show) not saying a word. These are probably things they’ve said before that have been dismissed because Adams would rather purr at Washington’s feet than actually do anything. 

“Sh, Adams, the adults are talking.” Thomas grins - even Washington looks proud - as Hamilton folds his arms, waiting for Washington’s response. Waiting for the agreement he knows is coming. 

Adams’ expression darkens. 

“Creole bastard.” He spits and Thomas watches Hamilton snap the pen, the warmth in his chest extinguished instantly as he stands. But there’s really no stopping Hamilton. 

————————————

Alexander Hamilton doesn’t see red, he sees the inside of one million erupting volcanoes, turning to Adams in blind rage where he’s standing and looking so smug, tearing apart his legacy, his family, his HOME-

“Hamilton-“ Jefferson, approaching, warning him.  
“Sit DOWN, John, you fat motherfucker!” Alex springs at him, aiming to pull out eyeballs and slit throats, when Jefferson grabs him by the waist, the room dissolving into shocked chaos. (Was all they were capable of shock? Jesus Christ.) A woman is screaming as if she’s never head the F-word before as Alex kicks, tries to escape as Adams points and laughs at him, Seabury and Lee at his side. It makes him want to curl up and cry, feeling foolish, but all he can think about is his mother’s soft smile, the gentle ‘don’t let anyone make you feel bad for being you, Alexander’. 

Then he’s being dragged from the meeting room, wrist in a powerful grip, and he argues and pulls against it, yelling but he has no idea what he’s saying. Cannot see through the anger, through the burn in his chest. Jefferson is sighing and rubbing his face the whole time, as if dealing with a toddler, pushing Alex into his office. 

“What were you thinking, Hamilton?” 

“I was thinking he’s a bastard that needs to be taught a fucking lesson!” Alex lunged for the door but Jefferson is stepping into the way, pushing him into one of the seats in front of the desk. 

“You had the room, Hamilton. They agreed with you. Do you have any idea what doing that has done?” Alex breathes heavily, slowly coming down from his anger through that lulling voice of Jefferson’s. Stupid, sweet as honey, smooth as silk, voice coming from his enemy. (Couldn’t it have been someone else?) “God, I thought you were being smart. Using the brain I know is in there. No one is going to agree with you now. Sure, everyone in here wants to say that to Adams, but we’re something foreign known as ‘professional’.” Jefferson disappointed hurts him more than Alex likes to admit. 

“He made being who I am bad.” His voice is all over the place. “Remember what happened when I did that to you?” Alex purposefully adjusts his tie, staring into Jefferson’s eyes. “I had every right to say that. He’s a pathetic, worthless leech here because Washington took pity on his lack of personality and decency.” Jefferson sighed.

“We aren’t talking about that, Hamilton, we’re talking about how lucky you’re going to be if you still have your job by days end.” Alex feels the blood drain from his face in an instant. 

“W-what?”

“You better hope you have Washington deep in your pocket, coffee boy, because he doesn’t appreciate that kind of behaviour.” Jefferson leans back, arms folded, feet propped onto his desk to expose the worn chewing gum buried into the bottom of his perfect shoe. “But, what you said took guts so, for what it’s worth, well done, Hamilton.” A light comes to life in his stomach and it suddenly all feels worth it. For Jefferson’s praise. Thomas’ praise. 

“I- thank you. Thank you, sir.” Jefferson raised an eyebrow. 

“Sir? You go from utter disrespect to ‘sir’. Bit disorienting, coffee boy.” Alex nodded in agreement, folding his legs, watching Jefferson, feeling as though walking though a minefield. Perhaps he could get Thomas to kiss him now, perhaps he could fix things, so when he didn’t see the bastard every day he’d have an excuse. “When you’re fired later, what’s going to happen to these riveting little chats of ours?” 

“I’ll be out your large hair. Sounds orgasmic, to me.” Slow, calculated, walking through a minefield. 

“But who will you fight aimlessly with?” Alex scoffs. 

“We don’t fight, we debate.” 

“Depends on my mood,” Jefferson flicks dirt from under his fingernail, watching Alexander with chilling eyes. “It’ll be odd not being your boss.” 

“It will be heaven.” Alex promises, standing, suddenly restless and approaching the bookshelf. “You won’t read to me about authority.” He felt Thomas approach but didn’t say anything. 

“No more authority, huh?” The noise that escapes him when Thomas’ warm lips press against his neck is nothing other than embarrassing, his fingers closing around the wooden shelving. “Sounds like you’ll miss it,” Thomas mutters, vibrations spread through Alexander’s scalp, sighing as Thomas presses against him. “My authority.” 

“A-as if.” Thomas scoffs, traces his tongue over where a hickey had been that first day. 

“You’re a real bad liar, Alexander.” He could come at how Thomas says his name alone and that is real embarrassing. “Have you been waiting for this? Waiting for when your tongue got you into so much trouble you had to admit you need me?” Alex makes a noise of disagreement but it’s lost as Thomas untucks his shirt, those warm fingers on his cold skin. 

“Don’t need you,” he argues fruitlessly, Thomas’ roaming fingers snaking up under his shirt. 

“Come off it, Alexander. Don’t you want the last thing you do here to be a little fun?” A whole two weeks flash against his eyes at once. The coffee shop, the elevator, the manuscript, then the club. Thomas’ soft voice but harsh words, his butterfly stomach, feeling so alone and Thomas just... being there. That had been enough. Spending time at Thomas’, not eating an apple, being told Thomas might - just might - like his company. Almost kissing, almost smiling, almost falling into feelings and something so much more. 

Almost. 

“It’s all been fun,” he whispers, slowly, and those pressing fingers hesitate for a moment, then he feels the smile on his skin. 

“You’re an arrogant coffee boy. I didn’t think you’d be half decent.” Alex wants to hit him, wants to make a snarky comment, but can only arch and nod because he understood. Maybe they were meant to be, this way, maybe they could make things work. Maybe this could be enough. 

Maybe. 

“Coming from an arrogant rich bo-Y,” he sighs as Thomas’ knowing fingers slide down his stomach, approaching his navel, teasingly, softly. 

“Mr. Jefferson? Mr. Washington is asking you and Mr. Hamilton go to his office immediately.” Jefferson moves away instantly, to answer the crackling intercom, leaving Alex to tuck back in his shirt and try to gain air in his lungs. At least if he was fired then there would be no questions. It could just be. They could hate each other as much as they wanted. And, maybe, other things. 

“Tell him we’ll be right there, Sally, thank you.” No response and Jefferson smoothed over his tie, motioning at his door as if nothing had happened. As if those damp lips hadn’t been against Alex’s neck just seconds ago. “Coming? It’s your funeral after all, Hamilton.” 

Reality collapsed atop of him. 

Fighting for a job like this, he’d be going in a circle if he got fired. Jefferson didn’t matter - he needed this, he needed this job, his dreams, his ambitions, he couldn’t throw that away for fucking JEFFERSON. 

“No, I can’t lose this job, Jefferson. I wouldn’t have done this if Adams-“ 

“Smile and say nothing, Hamilton.” Jefferson mutters, smiling politely at a colleague staring with a knowing smirk, watching Alex head to his execution. “You’re making things worse by begging for your life.” Alex nodded and pretended he wasn’t fighting tears. He wasn’t an easy crier, but the thought of losing a job he fought for for so many years was enough to make the sting appear. 

Washington’s office hasn’t changed, which isn’t saying much. He hadn’t expected it to, except, yes, he had, it should look menacing and dark, not inviting and clean like it had when he was hired. It felt backwards as they approached the desk, as if meeting Jefferson in reverse. But so much had happened. This couldn’t be over, not yet... 

“Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Hamilton, sit.” They did. Washington watched them from the window reflection. “Mr. Hamilton I cannot express my disappointment through words, son-“ 

“I’m not your son.” Which gets him a glare from both sides and he doesn’t even care, won’t have Washington dig himself into a hole. 

“-what you said back there was, frankly, disgusting. Mr. Adams may have provoked you but retaliation is not the way to go. Are we understood? Insults are petty and do not elevate a point, yes?” Alex felt scolded by a teacher, dropping his head, shame making his cheeks burn. 

“I understand sir.” 

“Mr. Adams, I assure you, will be held accountable, by giving up his job to you.” Washington says it so simply that Alex almost misses it, almost misses the fact he’s being promoted. 

“I’m sorry?” Jefferson and Alex exclaim at the same time. “Sir, as Hamilton’s supervisor, I don’t feel this is really wise-“ All other feelings for Jefferson vanish as he tries to keep this - what Alex wants - from him. 

“I will hear nothing of this. Hamilton you’ve proved you know more than our current treasury and I’m more than willing to give you the job.” Alex’s heart is going a mile a minute. This is certainly unexpected. “Along that line, Mr. Jefferson, you’ll be the first to know I’m changing things around here.” Theres a look exchange that goes three ways. “First of all, I’m making a whole department on locations, a foreign affairs advisor I’m gonna call the Secretary of State and, Mr. Jefferson, that’s gonna be you.” Jefferson looks unsure if this is a promotion or not, shifting in his seat, pursing his lips. “You, Mr. Hamilton, are gonna be Secretary of the Treasury. I hope you’ll work closely and well, like you do now?” How were they going to survive without this stupid little boy meets rich somebody dynamic? “An office is being emptied for you, Mr. Hamilton, everything from your cubicle is being moved. There’s a week settling period before this is all put into true motion. I advise you to clear some time, it’s gonna take some adjusting.” 

In the elevator back down there is awkward silence. 

“What do we do about what happened?” Alex asks, hand on his neck, looking up at Jefferson who does not even look at him, so obviously regretful. It makes Alex feel sick. 

“Ignore it.” He tells him sharply. 

“Jefferson-“ you can’t, I need you, you make me feel real, you make me feel needed when everyone else leaves... 

“It was stupid. We thought you were being fired which would mean no consequences, we have to be grown ups about this.” Alexander’s heart weeps (his dick too) at being so close but so far. So close to something more. 

“Oh. Of course. Yeah. It’s only logical.” But he doesn’t agree, he hates this, wants to scream at Jefferson for doing this to him. 

“Hard feelings?”

“Plenty.” They nodded at Jefferson’s door, understanding, before Alex walked down the hall, to find his new office. A new life. 

A new way of living. 

————————————

As Alexander Hamilton, the man who claims to be simple and isn’t, finds his office and Peggy to gush about his promotion his stomach is turning, he can still feel the lips on his skin. It doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t, as he celebrates with his friends, as the whole company is changed for the better. For the greater good he ignores his lust that could have been more and instead puts effort into yelling and debating with Jefferson, rejoicing in his anger. In a reaction. Makes his life about work, not about how lonely he is, even when Hercules and Lafayette laugh in the kitchen, doing something as mundane as chopping vegetables. Even when John and ‘Liza cuddle on the sofa. He doesn’t need that, he never did, certainly not from Jefferson. 

And Thomas Jefferson, the man who knows he is complicated? He spends his time remembering languages he’s fluent in, watches James and Burr fall in love across from them at tables everywhere. Late nights at the office. He imagines Hamilton there, on the couch, or stood in front of him, but it’s never the same. He looks into Martha’s picture and asks ‘why did I let him slip away?’ And she responds, gently, in the back of his mind, ‘because, Thomas, because letting him go was easier than letting him in.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave feedback please. This is not the end of our stupid boys I promise. Loathing will be coming so super soon thank you all for the reading and kudos!!!
> 
> First chapter of Loathing is now up :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> This is my first fanfic on this site and I am always open to feedback. Please, also, feel free to post insults from Thomas to Alex or the other way around (I struggle).  
> Updates whenever I want! Have a good day you :)


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